


Wild River Water

by maevestrom



Category: Survivor (TV 2000)
Genre: Blindside, Evacuation, Exile, F/F, First Person, Minority, Mutiny, Narrative, Second Person, Survivor - Freeform, TASMANIA - Freeform, idol, kree rivers, numbers, pagong, survivalist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom
Summary: Survivalist Kree Rivers thinks back on twenty-four days of this game they call Survivor, and how she can survive being part of the minority alliance on her tribe after a freak accident.





	1. Fireside Chats

You can never start at the beginning on your own.

Raven always tells you that’s the best place to start. Or, at least, that’s what Toby told her. You try and hold your tongue around her that you never really liked him, but you know what it’s like to lose those you loved- it’s far too familiar to you.

Besides, Raven has power over you- and she knows it. Even though she tries to hide it, you can tell she’s in disbelief at the very concept, disbelief that she barely tries to hide.

You just hope that when you’re voted out soon, she likes you better than they did.

You’re used to meditating. You’re also used to it being easy to clear your mind. There’s not much to clear- not because you’re stupid but because there’s not much to think about. You’re used to a simple life, but one that requires your intelligence and attention. Lots of survival, lots of travel, never staying at one place for too long. You’re a nomad, and you can’t imagine a normal life. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just that living under a solid roof in a place that never changes it’s really what Kree Rivers does. Kree, with braided hair, brown skin, and knowledge of the land she’s told her ancestors once possessed, as though she can take it all back for them.

That’s also the type of attitude that encouraged you to apply to the show you’re on. Survival, definitely. The promised test isn’t an extraordinary test to you. You’re hungry, but you’re managing. You don’t need much water, so you’re not struggling with thirst. You have a number of tricks for survival- what natural resources to use, what practices to encourage better behavior, Survival-wise, you’re in your prime.

Too bad you found out a little too late that that’s not what the show was entirely about.

The world you’re in is far more different than you imagined.

\-----

It’s nighttime at camp, and you hate to admit that you actually miss the light as you can barely see anything. There’s some faint light in the lanterns, but you can only vaguely see people pass by like ghosts in front of the flame, then disappear again. You only hear vague breathing and bags hitting the ground and shelter- and shortly after, you sit on its edge as well.

You look at the sky- though probably the roof of the shelter given the lack of stars- and then sigh. You recall Brian saying it would be inevitable, but you followed his plan because it was something. You just don’t know how to explain it to Raven. She isn’t sitting near you- you would feel her weight on the seat somewhere between a heavy bag and a normal person. You get the sense by the look on her face that she doesn’t want to hear any excuses- even though “this is the name I was told” is the honest reason you wrote her name down.

As you lie back slowly, cautiously, a little too considerately, you wish for one of two things- that the light snuffed from Anita’s torch was transferred to the lantern rather than the dying fire gasping for light, or that you could see Anita pass by the lantern at all.

You try and settle down against the shelter to sleep. Despite the uncomfortableness of the bamboo that is most certainly not native to Tasmania, you’re exhausted, possibly wishing no one else was there. You try and take the invasive clomping around of the production and camera crew into mind as background noise, but it’s still too much noise.

Still, at least you don’t drift off before you notice the lantern taken away. You jolt, and hit your head on the shelter going to sit up. You don’t injure yourself, but you feel foolish. This isn’t like you.

You trace the light, but to aid you whoever owns it starts banging on the side of it. You wince as the owner does so more until setting it down on the edge of the stone firepit, which is redundant as far as you’re concerned.

You crawl to the group to see Brian, punctual as ever, sitting alone. He looks at you with an sarcastically excited grin. (You’re not the best with sarcasm, but you imagine he couldn’t find any genuine glee in the situation). A few more join as you take a seat on the surrounding logs next to Brian- Zaim, looking incensed as though woken from sleep so soon, Boris, as blank faced as ever save for him sneaking you a smile, and Miranda, who looks intently at the person with the lantern who you can’t quite make out due to the saturation. What you can make out, however, is Miranda’s cute, spiteful little smirk.

“Is everyone here?” Ronnie calls, beating the lantern again.

“You’ll break that,” you advise quietly.

“Aw, we have more,” she responds rambunctiously, and you swear that even though you can’t make her out in detail you can see her permanent reckless smile. You want to tell her that she still doesn’t need to waste it, but you doubt she’ll hear it.

“Give it a second,” Sharon says. You can hear her yawn louder than the fire crackling as you hear her thud to one of the log seats, striped dress cloaking the area and swallowing some of her black hair up. Eventually, one more person, who you know to be Raven, takes a seat. Lighter than a normal human, heavier than your bag. You feel her, but don’t dare look at her.

“Gorgeous!” Ronnie calls out, then takes a seat with lantern in hand. It’s not on one of the logs- you can make out her dramatically falling into the only available lawn chair. You have half a mind to tell her that’s how she broke the other one, but as you look back you see Miranda and decide against it.

She holds the lantern away from her. “Aw, jeez, my dreads are gonna light on fire.” You look at Brian. Though he can barely make you out- nor you him- he reaches for your hand. You let him. “Anyway!” she says, clapping once to make sure everyone is awake, “I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page regarding this vote.”

“I think that what has been said has needed to,” Zaim responds, caution in his voice, as though he knows what misfortunes she’ll run face first into.

“Yeah, I mean, four for Raven and five for ‘Nita,” Sharon says, thick country accent echoing through the trees. “Don’t need to make it trickier’n that.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s about straight,” Ronnie notes passively. “But you know how it is. Us five- me, Miranda, Boris, Sharon, Raven- are gonna stay strong to the end. Like, that’s just how it’s gonna go. Sorry y’all.” You sigh, already having figured this out, and unsure of why a meeting was called for it.

“That simple?” Brian asks, condescending grin almost audible.

She shrugs. “Looks like it. So, like, it’d probably be for the best if you didn’t, like, make a fuss and try to scramble. We got nine days left- okay, you have nine days left-” At that, you hear Zaim scoff, incredulous “so let’s just make it a nice, peaceful time.”

“You do realize,” Zaim speaks for the first time, easily the loudest, most booming voice of all “That you are instructing us not to play the game.”

“Awww, don’t make it sound _that_ dramatic,” Ronnie coos, pity lacing her words. “We just don’t need the drama from you all.”

“Drama?” Zaim responds. He’s maintaining professional demeanor, but the tone is begging both for and against her making him snap. “You do realize that winning the vote does not mean you can create the new reality we live in, correct?”

“Uhm,” Ronnie corrects, “I mean you can do what you want. But it’d just be wasting breath. The only thing y’all really have control of is whether or not you get eighth, seventh, or sixth.”

Contradicting her own point is the necklace she’s wearing- one with teal-green stones all along the lining, and a radiant opal in the center, the entire thing lined with silver twine-like branches. The necklace you know made her immune to all votes- and one that’s your only hope.

“I’d first point out,” Brian says, “or would be remiss not to, that it was you who told us to vote Raven.” After a second’s silence, he adds “Hmm. I suppose I did not obey the rule about not scrambling.” You can’t help it. You giggle. It’s so lithe and chirping that you don’t recognize it.

“Hold up,” Raven speaks at last. You missed her polished voice, but also wanted to avoid it. “Y’all were told to vote me?”

“That we were,” Brian confirms. “Your name was offered up by Ronnie.”

Ronnie’s sitting up now, lantern against chest. “Okay, dude, are you seriously gonna pull that?” she asks, tempting someone to tempt her.

“I would question someone who knows they are the dead walking,” Miranda responds, almost inaudible yet somehow clearly understood. “They’ve nothing to lose by saying anything.”

Before you can question how someone not talked to knows the truth behind Ronnie’s actions, Sharon chimes in “‘Cept three more days.”

Zaim stands up. “That will be quite enough, Sharon. If you would like to contribute anything useful, I would appreciate it.”

Sharon doesn’t respond, but you can see something akin to expectant contempt on her face, resigned to him continuing.

“I fail to understand,” he continues, ever the hand talker, “how you believe your power came naturally, and will stay that way.” You know what he’s referring to, and the issues you know you haven’t faced come to light, begging to be compartmentalized another day. “Your five only voted together based off of convenience. What truly binds you?”

Apparently you’re sweating, because when Brian holds your wrist, it feels less slick.

“Jeez, dude,” Ronnie says. “Not my fault the fuckin’ lumberjack fell asleep in the river. I got l-”

You stand up, your mind not aware of it but violently angry.

_“Quiet!”_

Immediately, she shrinks into her chair, lantern falling over with the door opening. “What’s your deal?” she screams, as if she has any right to act attacked.

 _“Don’t talk about her like that!”_ This isn’t like you. You’re not a yeller. You’re barely even a talker. You aren’t even entirely in control of what you’re doing, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so hateful- or at least, like to think of it. You scream again, leaning into her face despite being a few feet away. _“How dare you!”_

“What’s with this psycho?” Ronnie demands to know. “Bitch, she was just evacuated, you don’t need to go all killer on me!”

You walk over to her. “She is the only reason you have power! She’s the only reason you are worth anything!”

The next thing you know, you feel a firm, unshaken hand on your arm, lightly pulling you back. At the same time, Zaim says “Be still,” in a voice calmer than his usual boisterous contention- and, if you’d have to guess, more terrified.

You almost don’t notice someone move to take the lantern off of Ronnie’s stomach until you see Raven holding it in disgust, using it to stare at you as though she’s seen a monster.

In a tone you aren’t sure is human, you command _“Don’t you dare look at me like that.”_

That’s as threatening as you can get. You’re a lot less angry when gesturing with your arm. Brian releases you, and you walk out of the little powwow Ronnie set up. You can still feel Raven’s judgmental glare as Ronnie’s yelling echoes on the trees into meaningless nothing. You think she’s saying something meant to intimidate you, but you don’t care to discover what it is. It’s like the kids in school. They don’t call you the _Mud Monster_ to your face, but you damn sure know they’re calling you that.

You hear the small stampede of camerafolk and those holding sound equipment. You know how unsuccessful it is to ask them to leave, though right now you’d beg for nothing more. You go to sit on a small rockface above the river you know too well and let them settle down and resume silence.

You don’t remember what it feels like to be alone, but you try and imagine what it feels like, how things used to be before you signed up. You wonder how many days it will be until you forget how that feels. You hope that if you’re voted out, it’s before then.

You meditate, trying to clear your mind. It’s easy to do when you don’t want to think of anything except for the fact that you don’t want to think of anything. You don’t want to think of Ronnie flinching and flying back like you were going to attack her, of Raven looking at you like a disgusting monster who was never her friend, of the look of inevitability Anita had as her votes were being read, the kiss Esther gave you on your cheek before she went into the river, this river, when you were too gobsmacked, too hypnotized, too _stupid_ to do anything…

You try not to think of them so hard you almost miss a nameless producer talking to you.

“Hey, we know it’s late.” Always we, there’s never been one person, just a faceless conglomeration. “Do you mind if we get a confessional from you?”

You think. You really don’t want to, but you owe them something. Besides, even though you don’t watch this, and barely plan to watch it even as you’re on a season, you have to explain to someone what went through your mind. That you’re not crazy. That you’re not a monster.

You sigh and turn around. “What do you want to know?”

\-----

 _“I’m… about four days in and I’m still not sure how to deal with it. With Esther. It was a disaster that shouldn’t have happened… and to have it treated as an accomplishment to be handed the numbers by_ her type of person… _Ronnie did nothing but benefit from others’ mistakes. I hate that she gets that victory. I hate that Esther didn’t listen. I hate that I didn’t stop her. Because now we’re all paying for it.”_

_\-----_

_There’s a feeling of shame and foolishness as you ask simple questions that are second nature to them but gigantic mysteries to you._

_You’re on the hike to camp, about three miles in. Your bag is full, and you’re tired, but still have energy in the tank. Compare to others around you- not everyone, but the bourgie man in sunglasses and a suit looks exhausted, and the kindly middle aged woman who smiled whenever you saw her was struggling to stick to the trail, or even suss it out half the time._

_Some people are more your kind but still get under your skin. There’s a vested man with a wild beard who feels a need to walk as confidently as possible, that you want to tell to save his energy. There’s a young, plain blonde woman in impractical riding boots who feels distant and silent as you fear you are._

_You’re just now realizing that they know more about this game than you._

_Deep in thought, you talk to the small brown-haired professor near you. “So… I know in this game you vote people out.”_

_He nods, adjusting his bowler hat as a visor to the sun. You’re in the middle of the pack but for you it’s keeping a steady pace, while for him this may be as fast as he can walk, being in his forties and all if you’ve judged correctly. “That’s correct,” he confirms._

_You look straight ahead, full-to-the-brim backpack jutting out a foot behind you like you’d expect. “I guess the part that loses me,” you say, “is that you can vote anyone off for any reason.”_

_He nods again. Used to teaching clueless people, he continues. “Yes, it can be for any reason. It’s not necessarily what’s best for survival, though that can be a big part of why people would desire to take you further.”_

_“What are some other reasons people would remove you?” You step over a small log blocking the path. You hear an “oof!” behind you as the middle aged woman trips over it, but when you look behind you and your large backpack she’s still walking, smiling at you._

_The professor doesn’t respond for a second. Then: “I feel like I’m condescending to you.”_

_You shake your head. “Don’t feel odd; I genuinely need to know these things.”_

_The professor nods. “Then I shall. In this game, people often vote against each other not just for weakness, but because they do not fit the social climate. They may be a strategic impediment by directly opposing you or by implementing strategic plans you are not comfortable with. They may be voted out simply because they are better than you, making them a risk to see at the end if you want the jury to vote for you.”_

_That last part gets you. It’s literally too fascinating for you to comprehend. You can only mutter an astonished “wow.”_

_The professor sneaks a smile. “Indeed. Perhaps in the first season it worked in the way you expected, but as the game has evolved, you can be voted out just for being in someone’s way.”_

_You nod, but you have to look scared. You think of the paper in your backpack, the one that launched you into this harrowing new world, and try and piece together what it means for your game- and how simple you look for not realizing how cutthroat it would be._

_This is confirmed as the woman ahead of you looks back and laughs, red hair making a mess over herself and her plaid shirt. You glower in embarrassment, not entirely looking at her. “Looks like we got a little baby Pagong in our midst!” she says, still crackling laughter. You continue to look away, as though there’s something interesting to be found in the ground._

_“So we do,” the professor says. You still don’t even know what a pagong is, but you’d be damned if you ask. You feel the weight of your backpack heavier than before, but it may be your body resisting the walk into the unknown, where it’s not about what you’re skilled at, but mystery elements you had not considered._

_And you were doing so well too._

_In your backpack should have been the bare essentials, but you decided to splurge. You would likely be staying in the same place for thirty-nine days. While that’s unusual to you it’s not entirely foreign. In between tarp, fishing gear, and firemaking equipment are small containers of “normal food” like tuna and mac and cheese, a set of blankets and pillows, and some folded lanterns waiting for fire. It’s surely why your backpack is half your size and a large weight to carry, but you knew this was a marathon, not a sprint._

_That’s how you think, in survival terms._

_You didn’t sign up to think of things in any other way, except of course you did._

_The redhead looks back at you for a moment as you walk, probably sensing your storminess within your silence. Her brown eyes are detailed and beautiful. “But with what you’re good at,” she says, “I reckon you’d be good for a long while.”_

_You nod, because you’d like to agree, even if you’re not there yet._


	2. Productive Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree thinks back on when one of her enemies was easily her most fascinating friend.

You watch the river again, fish rarely passing by, briefly looking at your lure and swimming away quickly. You can't help but feel that you're insulting them by even thinking they'd take the bait.  _ No wonder Thompson couldn't do this,  _ you think.  _ I want to snap at them already.  _

You could stay out there forever, but you know you shouldn't. You start to roll up the line and put it in the tackle box, lifting it up and walking away. The river is in your past, but unfortunately will be in your future- and as far away from it as you walk, is controlling your present like reeds bashed against rocks too violently to make you do anything but remember the descriptions and shudder.

As you walk back, you pass Boris, who nods politely, a stack of firewood in hand. He looks at your hands and deduces “no fish.”

You sadly nod. “It's what I feared,” you explain. “We've desensitized them. We're part of the routine.” You're not even sure if that's a  _ thing,  _ but at twenty-five days in with little caloric intake, you're not about to write a thesis on fish psychology. 

He nods in understanding- or you could both be speaking the same crazy language. “If you do anything enough times it's second nature,” he offers. You deduce that, yep, he's dazed too, so you wave to him and walk off. “Take care,” he says as he becomes a voice in the wind. 

You hear the buzz of conversation before you reach the shelter. The rest of the Yanada Five, no doubt. It's Ronnie leading it as always, with Sharon chiming in now and again, and then some quiet spots where you presume that- for once- Ronnie is giving the floor to Miranda. As you get closer, the voices get clearer, saying what you hoped they wouldn't but expected them to. 

“Zaim’s an easy get. No one likes him, he's big and annoying.”

“I'm done with him.”

Some quiet muttering, with words you don't even try to make out. 

“I mean, who would want to?”

A sigh. “I mean, do you actually think people would flip? For Zaim?”

“I ain’t thinkin’ Boris would be about to.” As she speaks, you muse that you didn't know people from St. Louis had such thick Southern accents until you met Sharon. 

Another small set of whispers that approach higher volume as you get closer. “...airtight. We have to boot them in the right order.” When you approach line of sight, you notice Miranda look right at you, and that there's not three conversing around the fire on the same logs you were on last night- there's four. 

As Miranda turns from you, she speaks to make sure you can hear it. 

“Kree can go anytime,” she says.

You almost want to snap that you’re  _ right there,  _ but now that you’re here you wish you weren’t. 

Sharon points at you. You wave. “She can hear you,” she says cluelessly. “Do you want her to hear?”

No one says anything as you sit on the edge of the shelter until Ronnie says “Pfft, not like she doesn’t know what’s gonna happen. What’s it gonna matter?” 

“Eh,” is all Sharon says. 

“If we’re all in consensus,” Miranda says, looking at the fourth, daring her to object. She looks at you, and you look at her, unable to hide that you’re pleading with her to say no. 

Raven turns from you and back to the group. “Proceed,” she says. 

That’s about enough for you. You fall back against the shelter louder than whatever they have to say about it (aside from Ronnie yelling “timber!”) They continue to chat, Miranda trying to catch your ear, but like hell you’re gonna let her intimidate you when you’re so used to tuning people out. 

You notice Brian in the shelter, lying in between two bamboo stalks, lazily looking the Yanada Five over. You smile at the warm familiarity. He smiles back, though he’s resigned as he does. “Congratulations on making sure they knew your presence,” he says. 

You laugh, but at the same time, you wish  _ that _ wasn’t how you did it. “Too bad Zaim’s at Exile,” you say. “I’d kill to be there right now.”

Brian chuckles. “Try listening to it for as long as I have,” he responds with a glint in his eye.  Brian’s let his professor’s guard down, no longer trying to be professional and instead taking the edge off by talking smack about them. It’s not such a bad idea. 

“I try not to,” you retort. 

Brian shakes his head, still smirking. Hair mussed from his bowler’s hat resting snugly by his waist, he says “Now you know what it’s like to be on the before times of Survivor.”

You chuckle, because at least you’re aware enough to recognize that as bad play, but there’s a sad look in your eye because you know that, if the way he described the show during your off-hours is right, you’re  _ still  _ going to meet the fate of a Pagong. 

\----

_ “They say that pride goes before the wall. That’s a cliche statement to be true, but it’s what I’m banking everything on. I really, really want them to fall.” _

\-----

_ Exile Island isn't really.  _

_ Not that you were expecting one. You're a ways away from the coast, so unlike Thompson you knew not to expect one. (Though you did enjoy Thompson returning from a hike, tackle box in hand, and ask if anyone had seen where the ocean met the land. Wisely, Esther said “it’s the frigging ocean. It's gotta be somewhere!”) Still, you expected it to be more desolate than it was. There's one river, barely any space that isn't untamed (that the cameras haven’t taken up), but the ground is even a small ways past the rocks, and there's a small patch of bamboo scattered from the last attempt at a shelter you assume Johnny tried with the reckless woman with dreads. _

_ It's not much, but it's enough for you. _

_ It probably isn't enough for your companion.  _

_ Your reactions both suit how you got there. Having volunteered to go, you and your massive backpack sit on the rocks by the river, bare feet at the edge as you hold your tennis shoes near your waist. Having essentially been offered up by that same dreadlocked woman who always makes the decisions, your partner looks as miserable as you would imagine- head under her knobby knees, sighing every now and again in a voice thin enough to break, entirely undressed and unprepared for the situation.  _

_ Judging by the storm clouds slowly rolling over the “island”, you reckon she’ll stay unhappy.  _

_ “Let’s get to it,” you say.  _

_ She looks up from her knees. She’s not crying, but she’s alarmingly weary. She gestures towards the camp behind her and asks “Get to what?” _

_ You survey the area quickly to make sure your meager plans are possible. Satisfied, you nod, and slip your shoes on. “Simple stuff,” you assess. “Build shelter, start fire. We can’t keep the fire lit forever because of the rain-” at which she desperately searches the sky for the rain clouds you saw. Helpfully, you point in their direction. “Still, I have some rope in my bag that will help with shelter construction- and since it’s just us two it shouldn’t need to be that big.” _

_ As you get up, you can tell she is struggling to move, overwhelmed. You thought your instructions were simple enough, but you remember the way Johnny repeatedly asked “now why do we gotta do that?” and Anita looked at you in concern when you tried to give instructions during that reward challenge. Maybe you give too many instructions. Maybe what’s clear to you isn’t clear to everyone. _

_ You’re on your two feet, carefully walking to the bamboo. You beckon for her to follow you, but try and keep your movements soft. “The weather being how it is, we need a cover for our shelter to cement that no rain gets between the cracks, as it’ll…” You decide against continuing about the shelter certainly being rudimentary. “There are some fern fronds scattered about,” you continue. “It’d be best…” you catch yourself again, kneading your forehead. You feel her gaze on your neck, too soft to understand, too hard not to. “Would you mind gathering those fronds to start off with?” _

_ She doesn’t respond at first, but eventually says “I’ll do my best.” _

_ You nod with a smile. “I believe you can do it.” _

_ With a dry “heh” she goes out of sight. You shrug with a coy smile not even the cameras can see, and start work on the bamboo. When she passes by for the first time, you see her less as a body to keep safe, and more as a person.  _

_ If someone wanted to find your comedic mismatch, they’d pick this woman- five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds, big hair as blue as midnight, decked in jewelry you generally find no use for but matches her beauty, and who looks like she does not eat as regularly as she should. Your reaction to her isn’t derision, but concern, and perhaps a slight bit of pity. She isn’t taking as good care of herself as her vessel requires. Still, something else breaks through- something you neither deny or address, but may have something to do with the idea of your heart skipping a beat when you realize she’s here with you.  _

_ Yet, as you stack the bottom floor of the bamboo, she’s dutifully carrying in piles of fronds, all stacked neatly on each other. You can tell by the way she sets them on the ground like a stack of wayward papers that she’s trying to prove herself. You hope you didn’t intimidate her into trying to impress you, because you aren’t asking for another survivalist- just someone doing her best.  _

_ You watch as she brings another stack. You say “That should be enough.” _

_ She nods, beaming. “Anything else I should do?” _

_ You think, with a thoughtful smile that hopefully reads devious. “You may regret asking that.” She tries to smile, but can’t hide her panic. You make sure the bamboo is steady before leaving. It slumps slightly against the dirt, but you’ll fix that. You walk over to the stack of fern leaves and pick one up, inspecting. It’s not very thick, and quite fragile, but you can definitely see places where your plan can work.  _

_ Setting them down with less care than she did, you say “There are holes between the frond branches. The ones you got, if you could just interlace them together, it would keep it from being patchy.” _

_ “All of them?”  she asks defensively, like a cat sensing a bath around the corner.  _

_ “All of the… wait.” You realize how that sounded. “Dammit. Sorry, let me show you.”  _

_ You take two ferns from the pile and hold them together. One by one, you interlace one branch with the other gently. “That’s all it takes,” you promise.  _

_ “Doesn’t seem like it will do much,” she points out.  _

_ You think for a second, and shrug, because you can’t lie to her. “Maybe not, but it’s the best we have in these conditions.” _

_ “I feel like  I’m  just the best we have in these conditions,” she admits with a bitter laugh.  _

_ You think again. This is heavier to address, and you’re not sure how, but before you can, she’s at work on the bamboo leaves. You shouldn’t distract her, but as you get back to work you aren’t sure you answered that correctly.  _

_ Getting back to work is what you both do. You build a rudimentary bamboo shelter as you aren’t in the best state of caloric intake, but you don’t think she’s the type to complain about others as much as herself. She weaves the fronds together as best as she can manages, but ends up tearing a few. She sets them aside, disappointed, and you pretend not to notice. After you finish the shelter, you take her torn bamboo and toss them in the river, watching them float away. She notices your presence, the disappearance of the ferns, and then you disposing of them, and apologizes far too quietly. You aren't sure you heard it but decide it can't hurt either way to shrug and remark that they're paper thin. As you go to get firewood, you tell her “you can do this. Line them on the roof when you're done.” _

_ You don't stand by to see anything but you feel things get instantly brighter.  _

_ So it goes. You work on starting up the fire before the rain hits. As it starts you notice her putting up the sheets of fern on the bamboo. You take a small pot from your bag and scoop up some river water. As you heat it on the stove you stare into it too long, bubbles rising and fading before you notice each one as more than a memory that also fades far quicker than the attention you're giving it.  _

_ It's not until she finishes the fern and sits next to you that you snap back to it. She's very close to you, leg against yours, which makes it very hard to focus, but you manage, reaching into your backpack again for a nice treat. Your eyes sparkle as you do so, surprisingly gleeful in a way you only experience when you know someone will appreciate you. _

_ She notices. Good. “You did not seriously do that.”  _

_ You nod, knowing grin on your face. “Figured we could take the edge off that way.” You pour the macaroni into the pot and hand her the cheese packets, which she grins at.  _

_ “That's…” she's at a loss for words. “We haven't eaten that nice all game. Thank you.” She sets the packets down and reaches across to side-hug you. You allow it, but she pulls away just as you smile. “Sorry, that may have been weird,” she mumbles. Before you can apologize for whatever reason, she says “That's just how I am!” with a short giggle. She's both apologized to you and justified herself in record time. Still, you smile.  _

_ “Better than what we got,” she repeats. “When we got our supplies it was mostly whatever Toby threw off the truck.” With a laugh, she adds “I don't even think he knew what was his and what wasn't.” _

_ You chuckle politely. You've never been sure what to make of Toby during his short stay, but the fact that he worked your nerves like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs will have to do- all his chaos, his gleeful madness, his abject disrespect for the game. You vaguely remember him throwing out the provided bounty with a few cheers and whoops but that just made you double down on retreating into your own world and gathering supplies off the Guwing truck (and the note in your bag). Like hell he was gonna distract you when you're already too used to tuning people out.  _

_ She sighs, and grabs the packets of cheese sauce again. “I really do miss him.” She tears it open. “Is that weird?” _

_ You think. In some ways, you think it's an unhealthy way to think, as everyone will leave at some point or another. You want to tell her not to hold onto it, to let it suffocate her, but you think of how Anita’s cold, pitying gaze felt on the back of your neck, or how Johnny would always end conversations about home when you got around to ask you questions about camp. You remember how much less human it made you feel.  _

_ Before you can answer anything, she says “Oh! Gotta get something to stir it with.” Before you can tell her you feel silly for forgetting it, she's gone.  _

_ You miss her voice already. _

_ The rain is starting to pour as you finish eating, the only thing protecting the fire’s embers is the pot flipped upside down. It's not freezing yet, but she's leaning against you, shivering, gravitating to your body heat. You don't mind, because it feels nice.  _

_ “Oh,” she realizes, too tired to portray surprise. “I'm Raven, by the way.” _

_ It occurs to you that knowing her name, not just as  her,  may prove useful in the future, so you nod. “I'm Kree,” you respond. _

_ “That's what I thought,” Raven says. Your face flushes with shame when you put together that she knows your name despite you never interacting but she needed to tell you yours.  _

_ A little while passes. You two lie down, her curled up in your arms and twisted around one like a branch. You almost wonder why your arm seems to hold all of your warmth where she's concerned when you feel her head turn.  _

_ “With the way you volunteered,” she starts, teasing at something. It takes you far too long and you still don't get it. To help your wall against thought crumble, she hints “look, I'm not in a great spot on Yanada, between you and I. If for whatever reason you would be down…”  _

_ You think about mutinying. Well, that's not true. You think of all the little things Johnny says to avoid addressing you, and all the little looks Anita gives like she thinks you can't feel them. You think of all the times you led the way at challenges and people acted like you inconvenienced them rather than helped them. You remember Brian giving disappointed grunts at your interactions with others, his way of saying he's on your side but it would be easier if you behaved. You think of Miranda, gone as she may be, not talking to you, always openly scowling at you, asking others openly why they put up with you. You think of how nice it would be to make Raven happy, and probably not let go of your arm, but then you think of the one woman, who cracks joke about how alien you are, but always makes sure you know through her laughter, body language, and picking up where you left off that you are valued, and that you are understood.  _

_ You shake your head. “I promised my tribe I wouldn't do what Miranda did,” you admit. “I can't go back on that now.” _

_ She sighs sadly, and you apologize, preparing for her to let your arm go. Instead, she says “it's all good. I just gotta show them how smart I am. They'll never see it coming.”  _

_ She says it in a way that indicates a far braver face than she believes she should have. You're too saddened to do anything but agree, but she snuggles closer to you. You like it. You’re not used to being in situations like this with company, but so far you don’t mind it.  _

_ You let your worries go and start to shut your mind off, letting sleep overtake you as it so easily does in situations like this. You smile as you try and imagine how you'll do this tomorrow. The imagined reality is what takes you to sleep, far closer to its actualization. _


	3. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree thinks of Brian now and then

You don’t think.

You really, really try not to think.

As you started, the host said something about it being mind over matter, and that’s what it’s down to. You keep reminding yourself that it’s mind over matter because that’s the closest you get to meditation. The water’s closing over your ears, so you can’t hear him anymore, if he’s still talking. (Though, let’s be real, he probably is.)

_Mind over matter. Mind over matter. Mind over-_

Some water gets into your hand snorkel and over the grate your arms are held in. You can’t breathe- wait, you can, but it’s barely breathing. Your breathing gets more shallow, and trying to gasp for air is taking over the desperate chant of _mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over ma-_

More water gets into your mouth and you spit it out like it smacked you in your face, but it still doesn’t go away, it just stays and splashes back into your mouth, and you can’t escape it for a moment, but for some reason every moment feels like it’ll be the last one, then it isn’t, and you can’t keep thinking _mind over matter, mind over matter,_ when all you can think is _how did she not notice-_

Someone taps you on your shoulder, and you scream.

All you can see is the blurry sight of birds flying away. Somewhere in the distance, you vaguely hear others react in shock. The hand that tapped you is calm yet firm, grabbing your shoulder softly and beckoning upward. You’re dazed enough to know that this isn’t ordinary, so you remove your arms from the grate and swim up.

“Is everyone o-” You can’t finish. You spit water onto the grate and back into the river. You lean over it chest-first, taking deep, panicked breaths. Now you’re waiting for the water to subside, even though it has and you just can’t believe it- though at the angle you’re lying you might be meeting it again soon.

“Kree, wins immunity!”

Astonished, you look to the host, standing on dry land a ways away from the grate you’ve held onto for what feels like a half hour. Boris is the one nearest you, hand on your shoulder as he congratulates you, smiling. Zaim is clapping as much as he can, but you can tell that the solo visit to Exile is draining him. Brian is also beaming with pride, and you remember him grabbing your hand at the start of the challenge, to signify that he knew- and that made you feel a lot less lonely.

No one else is clapping. The others look bored or inconvenienced, save for Raven, who has eyes on you. She’s horrified, but strangely, it’s on your behalf.

Eventually, Boris says “I believe you will have to swim to dry land to receive it”, a knowing glint in his eye.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it,” you joke, still gasping for air.

But you do, swimming to the beach and flopping side-first onto land. You’re still spitting up a little water, but it dissipates by the time the host comes over with the necklace. You feel like you should be celebrating, but can’t- you’re hugging yourself around your exposed stomach to keep from freezing (which isn’t working) and wrap your bare calves around your chest like Raven would. Physically, you made several mistakes in that challenge, but as the host comes over with the necklace, you stand up, and all of it starts to disappear from memory. When you see the passive, agitated looks on the faces of your enemies, it all feels worth it.

“Congratulations on immunity, Kree.” The host fits the necklace on you, which almost feels surreal. You haven’t felt safe in ages, but nothing they do or say will send you home this round, no matter how much they want to.

You look at Ronnie with a smug smirk, and mouth the words “Next time”, smiling.

She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you for winning one challenge,” she says aloud, annoyed sigh as though you’re making things hard on _her_ by existing.

“If nothing else,” Brian says with a knowing smile, “technically it makes her almost as good as you. Given the situation, even better.”

Ronnie rolls her eyes. “Oh for Christ’s sake, will you stop that?” she whines. You give her a look daring her to say more, but when she sees it she clams up pretty quickly, content to give you a glare that she probably thinks intimidates you. Brian sees it and busts up laughing. You smile, until you realize something just before it’s said in an attempt to shake you.

“You know you’re just going next in her stead, Brian?”

 _Damn._ Leave it to Miranda to shake you up in ten words what takes Ronnie a thousand. You try to look disaffected, because she will not take this victory from you despite the desire of her psychological warfare. Boris pinches the bridge of his nose, and Zaim glares at her audacity. “How dare you,” he seethes.

You look at Brian, and he just smiles, acceptant but far from finished. You’re struck by a wave of sadness looking at him, but he’s disarmingly at peace. “I could have guessed,” he says. “I do wonder how much you think you’re letting me down.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow, impressed in the most infantilizing of ways. Ronnie goes to stand up, but she’s stopped by a surprising force. You look to see Raven’s hand on her chest, her face one of despondent disapproval. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, but you’ve long gotten the sense that being around you wouldn’t be much better for her.

“Let’s just go to camp,” she pleads.

Miranda thinks and nods, allowing it.

The host nods. “Kree is safe tonight at Tribal Council,” he recites, word for word the same as ever, but it’s a lovely oddity to have your name inserted into it. “She cannot be voted out. For the rest of you, the same can’t be said. Grab your stuff, and head back to camp.”

You only have the clothes you wore before the challenge, because you’d be damned if you left your backpack around the Yanada Five. You wait for the others to grab their bags, proudly sporting your necklace. Brian is the first to gather his meager things, and walks by you with a smile.

“Sorry,” you whisper, reaching for his hand and trying to hide how close you are to tearing up.

He almost doesn’t notice, but he does just before you get embarrassed enough to pull it back. He gives it a squeeze and says “you did such a remarkable job. It’s well earned, so don’t apologize.”

You smile and nod weakly, and suddenly the ground is very interesting to you judging by the ways your eyes are glued to it.

“I see clearly what she talked about,” Brian says, causing you to jolt with surprise that he knew what she said, that she said it at all, that you were worth the attention. “You were downright superhuman.”

You nod again, and you can’t hide the tears any longer. Brian walks away, heading back to camp. You already miss him. You can’t imagine how bad it will get tomorrow.

\-----

_“What Ronnie and Miranda don’t seem to realize is that the things they see as expendable are lives. They’re human beings with families and aspirations. We all are. We all need the money, and we all know only one person gets it, but to gleefully hold them in your hands and announce your desire to crush them shows that you don’t know what they’re worth. I truly hope they get something out of it, because it’ll come back to haunt them.”_

\-----

_You want to tell him to talk to your face next time rather than behind your back, but with the way Anita never meets your gaze with those looks when she’s at camp, it’s not surprising that her number two is the same way. Either way, it’s not worth it. You’re not really affected by people trash talking you anymore- or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself._

_Esther is still going to bat for you, even as you pretend you don’t hear it. That’s half-truth; you can’t make all her words out, but those you can make out are defensive and don’t really give a damn about Johnny calmly calling you a liability and hindrance that should really be voted out. Which he said, by the way, with the blanket you carried into camp covered over his lap, on the shelter you helped build without complaint, as he probably expects to eat the things you told him to and not what you cautioned him not to. Take all those away, and he would understand the word hindrance._

_That doesn’t explain, however, that you’re somewhat sympathetic to him._

_You wish he had just gone about it in a less dehumanizing way._

_Brian notices you walking through the field too close to the argument. You flinch, because you can’t even lie about hearing them or not, and you know he’s gotta be thinking lowly of you for listening in to an argument about you without facing it. You just don’t have the energy to hear people tell you what’s wrong with you._

_Brian hmms before taking your side. The two of you walk together through the fields, not saying anything. As the arguing and Esther’s voice gets further away into nothingness, you feel shackles break in your mind, a violent detachment from a toxic IV that leaves you bleeding, but better than you think._

_Eventually, you propose “firewood?”_

_“That would be fine,” he responds in a way where you know you could be building a rock collection and it would be the same- just not as meaningful to you as there's nothing to do with rocks._

_Somehow, you think he knows that._

_“On your... survivalist journeys,” he asks cautiously, stretching for words he isn't sure are correct. “Do you listen to music of any kind?”_

_You shake your head instinctively. Too fast for your liking, so you add “I'm not a music person.”_

_He nods, understanding. “That's understandable. I myself would think it would connect you to the part of society you're taking leave from.”_

_You furrow your brow. “I'm not sure if…” You stop walking for a second to let your brain catch up. You try and find the right words, but the longer you keep him stopped, waiting for you, the less you can be bothered._

_“Honestly, I don't think I miss that part of society.” Then, when he doesn't show any pity or discomfort, you feel more comfortable. “If I never came back to it, I'd be all right.”_

_He hmms. “To do what you love is understandable, and you do it well.” You beam at the compliment because it feels real. “I know myself I've had to step out of my comfort zone by applying for this game.” With a pleased, tired smile, he adds “It's been very helpful.”_

_You nod, both listening him and trying to think of ways to justify your sentence. “I do have friends,” you say. “Friends I love.”_

_“I don't doubt it.”_

_You smile since he doesn't. “I try and keep my home in Taos in nice shape. It's a nice project.” He nods again. Somewhere along the way the two of you sat down. “I can take it easy in town. Visit a few places. I can feel at peace there, but…”_

_Brian waits for you to find the words. This time, you don't think he minds waiting._

_“I always feel I'm dragging my heels. Because I'm good at survival. It's something I'm confident in.”_

_He nods with a smile and pats your knee. “The interesting thing about that?”_

_“What would that be?”_

_“I think this is the most I've ever learned about you.”_

_You close your eyes. “It might be the most anyone out here has, if I'm honest.”_

_He beams. “I think…” Now he's searching for words. You're scared, but after offering you the courtesy you give him the same. “I think if people had more of your true side, they would empathize with you better than they do.”_

_Damn. You almost forgot, and judging by the way you feel your face wrinkle you wish you'd forgotten awhile longer._

_Brian notices because even Sleeping Beauty would. For all you keep to yourself, you've never had a poker face. “I don't mean to talk down to you,” he insists._

_You shake your head. “You're not. It's…” You go to think again. You know the way Johnny talks and Anita looks at you, but you also know how Zaim has told you he respects your honest approach, or the way Esther praises you, echoing your thoughts in a far louder, sterner way. You try to convert your knowledge into articulate thoughts, but you realize if you plan your words it's not authentic. Better to ask yourself forgiveness than permission._

_“I think part of me likes being that concept of… me,” you say. “But the more I go the more it feels more like a concept and less like me.”_

_Brian nods, but doesn't say anything. In the quiet you hear the electronic shuffle of the camera equipment. By now, you’ve tuned it out, save for the moments where there’s nothing but silence and awareness._

_“If that makes sense,” you add._

_He nods. It's quiet for a bit, but close to meditation. Nothing feels awkward, but instead peaceful. How it was meant to be. You haven't felt this way since Raven fell asleep on your arm. You're so glad she survived, but until you meet again at least you're certain you can be human again._

_“Have you heard many classic songs?” he asks._

_You nod. “They're classics.” Then with a smirk. “I'm not that disconnected.”_

_He laughs. “I figured either way sounded legitimate.” A few more seconds, and then he asks “Have you heard Wish You Were Here?”_

_You nod, this time squeezing his hand._

_“That would be my favorite song.” It should be a simple question, but you recognize his hesitancy if only from your own tongue. “If my mind ever goes abuzz from all of my thoughts and occupations, when I lie down to sleep I play the song and let go.”_

_The song faintly plays in your head. It's not quite right, but the feeling of letting go helps you relate to it. “I'm glad you told me,” you say._

_“You gave me something from your mind,” he says. “It's only fair that I do the same.”_

_As he grabs your hand, you can only remember how happy you felt to have your friends, because you're feeling it now. Brian made it clear to you that this game was cutthroat, and people could cut you for whatever reason. You know that Johnny and Anita found theirs, but you'd rather focus on how your reasons and desires are to support someone rather than tear them down._

_You don't have any firewood. You doubt you'll ever get firewood. Still, you're so glad to be here, because it's a step away from feeling alien, and a step closer to feeling human._


	4. Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree adds two Yanadas to her circle of trust

**Chapter 4**

You wish he was here.

If Boris asks, that’s the reason you’re not talking. You both are on a yacht just off the coast that Thompson thought was a formality, miles away from camp. There’s plenty of food, but you’re not a food-focused person. Even though you haven’t eaten in days and are feeling that, pacing yourself is so ingrained in your mind that it’s second nature to you- foolish or not.

Meanwhile, Boris has drawn the cake, lasagna, and cake in half- though notably not the alcohol. His half is nearly gone, while yours remains. His only excuse is “I was hungry” with a small laugh as rough and disruptive as it is short. You don’t mind or think it silly, just as he hasn’t seemed to think it’s silly to not eat everything but stare out past the deck at the ocean as though Brian may show up there, swimming against the current of possibility.

That’s been what’s defined your relationship with Boris. You both do things others would think weird but you don’t judge him because you don’t think he judges you. It’s comforting in its own way- probably the most normal you’ve felt out here.

You finally tear your eyes away from the ocean and back to the food. The cake looks tempting, but you know it’s the less healthy option, so like a good survivalist you eat some of the lasagna. Probably more carbs and less trash. You take another bite, and it’s still as good as the rest. You’re gonna miss it when it’s gone.

Boris notices your smile before you feel it. “Good, yes?”

You nod as he takes another swig of wine straight from the bottle. “Quite so.”

He laughs with alcohol still in his mouth. “Quite so indeed!”

“You should probably swallow that first.”

He laughs again, and swallows it. Probably the other defining characteristic in your relationship with Boris is that the two of you can take the piss out of each other (over things further from your psyche) and still smile over it. You wish that he’d been on your tribe. You’d take Boris treating you like company than Johnny doing the opposite.

You take a small drink from your bottle of wine. It’s strong, tart and laughs at you for drinking it at all, but despite the fact that it makes your face pucker, you dominate it by consumption.

Boris notices. “I can take it if you want,” he jokes.

“I make it a point not to indulge the bad habits of others,” you reply with a knowing grin. “My own will do just fine, thanks.”

He laughs again. After settling, he admits “That’s why I am glad I am here with you. It’s the only way I know that I would be here with a friend who acknowledges me, and not what I can do for them in the game.”

You smile, but it goes downcast quite quickly. The game is all you can think about lately, especially with Brian gone, because aside from Zaim’s occasional platitudes towards yourself that you try to believe in, there’s no one left. Brian’s gone, Esther’s gone, and you know that Raven will talk to you as much as you want to talk to her. There are a few shallow friendships, a gaggle of enemies out to terrorize you, and then the game. The first doesn’t have enough to focus on, and the second you refuse to focus on, and that leaves the third.

“Then why is it that you would want me out?” you ask. As soon as you say it, you feel the sky darken around you, entering danger like letting wolves into your camp. You don’t have any faith in your survival, and just want to leave with a few friends that you want to try and talk to (though you don’t have faith in that either). At the same time… you can’t let your vote for Brian go to waste. You can’t let the loss of Esther mark your trail in the game. You think it would be morally wrong to embrace death with open arms knowing who was slain to get you even this close to such a faraway concept as survival.

You notice the entire time Boris has been thinking. You can’t tell if he’s thinking of the right words or words in general, but he seems relatively stuck. He notices how you look at him sometimes but avoid his aged, weathered gaze and how it’s rested on you.

“I think I can make my claim in a number of reasons,” he says, and you wish he wouldn’t. You like straightforward people, but Brian’s the only one you can tolerate long college lectures from. You especially don’t want to hear them about why you’ll lose.

You compromise. “I promise I’ll refute every one.”

He laughs. “I could have guessed!”

You smirk. “Low tolerance for bullshit.”

“That, I could have guessed too.”

You both smile at each other, even though there’s a divide between you two that you’re on opposite ends of. You take another drink of wine, because you think you may need it.

“The first is that I do have plans to stick with Yanada,” he says. He quietly gestures towards you, and you’re happy to take the floor.

“After Zaim and I go, what’s your plan? I think you’ll be an easy fifth.” Before you relinquish the floor, you add “Sharon and Raven are drifting away. I don’t think you’ll get any further than one of them using you.”

“Good, good,” he says, in a tone of voice that sounds more certain than his eyebrows indicate, as they raise about as high as his bald hairline. “My second is that they aren’t great at any challenges that, as they get more physical than mental, I cannot handle.”

“Ronnie’s won one,” you point out, “and Miranda’s a horse trainer. Don’t count them out.”

Boris nods, with a wine-stricken grin. “And I am the best window washer on the biggest skyscrapers in Las Vegas,” he brags. “And you are the biggest nature enthusiast in the seven continents, I would imagine.”

You smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Boris thinks, holding a hand to his chin. “Except maybe a jury vote.”

You smirk. “Well, maybe somewhere,” you admit. He laughs again, and you giggle a little too, again sounding like a more elegant girl’s laugh. Gallows humor has always been a way you cope with death, and though there’s no actual gallows here- even for Esther- it works the same. It helps you acknowledge failure without the horror of trying to outrun it.

Boris leans in. “Perhaps the third I shouldn’t reveal,” he whispers, “but perhaps I have had enough alcohol to do so.”

You finish your next bite of lasagna, trying to hide how perked you are by the news. “Consider me a bad influence.”

He chuckles deviously. Again whispering, as though he fears the other four from so far away, as though they still have an influence on him. “Miranda has a hidden immunity idol,” he reveals, and immediately your hair stands on edge. “I fear even if I did try and make a break, she would erase all the votes and I would look the treacherous fool.”

In your head, there’s a puzzle that’s been missing a lot of pieces, between the clues you had about reality and the theories that never were solved. Now, you know what’s happening, who’s in charge, and how they remain in charge. Threats, strongarming, creating a unit that barely was and you know hasn’t been real since Raven told you she was in a bad spot at exile, until Ronnie told you to vote Raven, until who was really in charge of Yanada gave Raven looks that challenged her to say anything, daring her to be her own person so she could watch what Miranda would do to her.

Most pertinent, you think of a paper in your bra that you forgot was there before, feeling like a second skin, but now is about to burn a hole in your chest.

“I’m glad I let you divide up the portions,” you say.

With that, you dig into your shirt and the sports bra you wore during the water challenge. Comically, Boris says “Whoa, whoa! My wife would be so unhappy!” You know he’s just joking, because you’re comfortable with him and he does not complicate things.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you get the paper. Since you can snipe back, you add “Too old, not feminine enough.” Boris receives it with a laugh, slapping the table. You finally pull it into view and unravel it flat like a scroll, setting it on the table for him.

“Read it,” you instruct.

He does, and as he does, you see a light cross his face, one that’s giddy to resume a once paused game. He looks at it, then at you, then smiles.

“I don’t have any dry land to make any concrete plans,” you say, grabbing the note by its torn edge and rolling it to how you got it. “However, if you stick with me, you will never have to question that you will be valued.”

Boris nods, and by the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s considering it. To celebrate a job well done, you indulge, taking a slice of cake. It’s sugary and bombards you with sweetness, but you’re happy enough to let it slide.

Boris thinks aloud. “With you, Zaim, and myself, that makes three,” he says. “You would need a fourth. I can talk to Sharon, but I doubt I would even get a lead on her.”

You shake your head. “Realistically, probably not.”

He finishes a bottle far quicker than you’ve cleared a quarter of yours. “So you would need to find one yourself.” You nod with a smile, because that’s a task you think you can do.

Then you frown, as you realize that you probably shouldn’t have put your prospective fourth on Exile Island.

\-----

_“This is a beautiful plan in theory. It’s my only hope, but it’s a hope with breath and life. My only problem is… I need Raven. She’s the only other person who would consider it. Yet, I doubt she would. Maybe it’s because I would listen to others, be angry for others, play for others… but with her, I always seemed like I played for myself.”_

_\-----_

_You’re glad you’re not going to see her again for a long time._

_Ecstatic, even._

_Sure, you don’t show the extent of it, but you probably showed enough. You can’t help it, the idea struck you, and ever since you clumsily asked Brian how to play the game, you always knew that unless you proved yourself you were gonna stay as the baby Pagong. You’ve heard about Pagong: a tribe of people you would like well enough that let their tribe fall apart after underestimating their adversaries’ acceptance of cruelty. You can’t shake the fear that you’ll end up like them. Aimless. Complacent. Willing to let the tribe and yourself fall down._

_This is your way of doing it right._

_Why does Johnny talk like you did something wrong?_

_“I’m just saying,” he says to your group huddle back at camp in the scratchy Southern accent you’re debatably used to, “that maybe she could have been useful. She was strong enough, good at challenges, and when she contributed, she contributed.” Anita says nothing, but the look in her eyes is one of regret._

_“I believe that whoever she may switch with will likely be a better contributor,” you reply, your voice forcibly even._

_Johnny scratches his head under his straw hat. “Uhm…” he hesitates. “Do you really think that that guy will be better than Miranda?”_

_You shrug. The guy who volunteered to exile too quickly was the perfect choice to send Miranda with if, like Esther said, exile had a mutiny option- at least, if the goal was to get rid of Miranda. You tell yourself that wasn’t the only reason. Though he’s big, tall, and well-spoken (from what you can tell, and as if that matters), you’re trying to convince yourself that it was more than getting rid of Miranda._

_“What makes you say that?”_

_Johnny sighs, as if you asked the exact wrong question, and even though from the corner of your eye you see Esther nod forcefully, you still feel sick to your stomach with guilt, as Johnny talking to and about you tends to do._

_“That dude will be fine,” Esther pitches in. “We need someone built like him.”_

_Greg scoffs. You forgot he was here. “I think the only thing he built was an imprint in his chair.” You put your forehead in your hands, that he both insulted someone he never met and tried to turn an adjective into a verb to make a surely hilarious crack._

_Johnny scratches his impressively long white beard. “I’m just saying,” he says, “Miranda had skills that we could have utilized. This man’s a total mystery.”_

_“She had skills, but it would be nice if she utilized them,” you add derisively._

_Anita sighs, and you look at her in the hopes that she finally will say something, but she doesn’t. Johnny speaks again, holding her hand. “I mean, if you just wanted to alleviate tension, I get it, but the thing you don’t understand-”_

_You try and hide your sheer joy at someone educating you unprompted. Meanwhile, cue Brian pinching his nose and Esther openly sighing. Instructor Johnny continues “-is that not all of us disl- calm down, Esther-”_

_Esther groans, already impatient, and you sneak a smile knowing that Esther almost brings the moribund maxim of “no woman ever has been calmed down by the words ‘calm down’” back to life. “Dude, she didn’t contribute. End of. You don’t need to be so pissy about it.” Johnny shakes his head, but Esther nods hers. Greg smiles, more impressed than he’d like to admit._

_“My thing is,” Johnny says, “is that whatever little thing Kree had with Miranda, it wasn’t mine, and I wish she hadn’t acted upon it.”_

_You tense up. You don’t look at Johnny, but you’re alert, like a robot switched on. “That wasn’t my doing,” you insist, but you doubt he or doe-eyed Anita believes you. “I just wanted to get her out of the way for someone who would contribute. And no matter what skills this man has and how he utilizes them, at least they’ll utilize them.”_

_“I believe his name is Zaim,” Brian adds briefly. “Had I heard right, at least.”_

_“Zaim,” you repeat. “Okay.”_

_Johnny holds his hands up, calming a fight that isn’t there. “I would just rather your baggage with someone wasn’t something you pushed on all of us to feel.”_

_Right then is when you shut down, because what he says is so true- and so cold- that it stabs you like an icicle to your heart. Your eyes are closed, you’re dead on your feet, and while you can vaguely hear people talking you don’t process it. You feel like you’re underwater and can’t surface._

_You try and rationalize it in your head. You all decided. You all agreed. Well, maybe you all agreed after you encouraged everyone to pick Miranda to go to exile. Maybe you were too forceful. Too eager. And then you remember Miranda at camp, and how she went on an unsaid strike from any work until something changed for her, and how she somehow thought everything would change if you were not there. You remember her always sighing and groaning whenever you told her very calmly what she should do.  You remember her demanding Esther to tell you why you were there. You remember her complaining to others about every little thing you did like you lived under her microscope, and then you have to wonder how the hell Johnny can bear witness to that and think you were being unreasonable to want that all out of your life because sometimes she’s good at challenges._

_You come to in a loud argument where, unsurprisingly, Esther is loudest of all. What brings you in is Brian, probably noticing your mute anger before you realized you were feeling it, rubbing your arm. He’s trying to diffuse your anger, but the way he calms you doesn’t judge you for being angry- even if he doesn't like that you are. In that moment, he becomes a brother._

_“-so don’t act like you have a leg to stand on about her, and that Kree doesn’t!” you hear Esther shout. Johnny looks like he couldn’t imagine how she’s so upset even if you gave him a hundred guesses to figure it out. After she’s finished, the circle is quiet. You smile at Esther, awed and thankful again that she’s the voice you couldn’t be._

_“I would put in,” Brian interjects into the silence, “that this conversation is moot. As far as I know, Miranda was the clear next to go. Probably unanimously too.”_

_You nod in agreement, but you doubt she knew that. If your plan worked, she had hope. Hope that wasn’t real, but still, hope._

_Greg chuckles, saying “I mean, that’s obvious” and you remember that he’s here again._

_“I mean,” Johnny replies, “she ain’t now.” Then he leaves. Anita leaves with him._

_Esther looks at the sky. “Wow,” is all she says. “I’m just… wow.”_

_“Is this over, chief?” Greg asks Esther, bored. Then, as though he decided he met his very minimal capper for tribe politics, he leaves. Esther shrugs, and Brian laughs._

_“Tough playing nice with them,” he admits, sighing._

_“Remember when Johnny wanted Greg out a few hours ago?” Esther asks, pointed. “And now, he doesn’t seem to have a clue who’s going.”_

_You chuckle, because it’s nicer than screaming, and you need catharsis in some form. You acknowledge both remaining and admit “The both of you probably are…”_

_You can’t think of the right descriptor. Smart? Cool? Good for you? The only two people who don’t make you question your worth? The only two who don’t make you feel like a dictator or monster because you don’t phrase your requests in a question and don’t like when someone minimizes you?_

_You settle for “the two I trust most.” You smile, but with that is a deep sigh that you know you didn’t say enough. You never do._

_Still, to your relief, they let it go with a smile. Esther puts her hand on your hip and says “Come on, mama, relax a bit.” You let her, but don’t return it, because physical affection still stuns you. You have to wonder if others see you as Esther’s little girlfriend, but you wouldn’t mind hiding in her shadow._

_“Farewell to you both,” Brian says. “I’ve got a water run to commence.” As he starts walking away, he abruptly follows you. “I may need the water jug for that.” Esther laughs loudly in your ear, and while it hurts your head it feels like home._

_The two of you lie in the shelter, her arm around you, even though yours hasn’t found the courage to wrap around hers. In the quiet you hear the cameras and sound equipment crew shuffle around and make a scene you expect no viewer in the world to notice. You can't take your focus off of it. Esther absently opens an eye towards you. You're nearly sitting up, in suspended animation._

_“Just… forget it's there,” she advises. “Don’t let it take up your mind.” She shuts her eyes and leaves you alone to try it. It's not quite gone yet but it's close enough to re-enter your meditative state._

_You drift off thinking about the question mark that is Zaim, who you know will be on your tribe in a day or two. Zaim, a tall, large black man that reminds you of your father. A man with a deep, commanding voice and a hot presence that feels like more to say, a tongue held with similar pressure that you give yours but not as successful. You hope he likes you. You hope that he doesn’t replace the hate that left the camp. You hope he just doesn’t think you as a fool._

_Then you stop, and you decide that what you really want is that he doesn’t think that you being tired of constant negative, personal behavior are no grounds to dislike someone. You want him to think you are valid._

_It’s a fantasy that you forced on this empty void, but a pleasant one nonetheless._


	5. Identity Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree realizes who she was, is, and should be.

When you return to camp without the necklace, you don’t feel anything. Maybe it’s numbness, maybe it’s resignation, maybe it’s disappointment you’re fighting away. You can’t erase it, because you’re so _angry_ that you failed in the second round. You can’t forget the hopeless pit in your stomach as you sat on the bench and watched Boris dust the climbing maze. You couldn’t even be happy for him- just angry that you cut your own game short.

You walk around camp aimlessly, not giving the cameras much of anything. Since there’s a very good chance this is your swan song, you’re trying to consider who you are as you walk to the gallows, but you’re too close to consider them worth a joke anymore.

Well… maybe that’s fatalistic. You do have a way out. You just can’t believe it will work. You can’t get your hopes up.

You’re still standing in camp when you notice Boris standing next to you. You jolt, violently awakened from your thoughts. Boris doesn’t react, probably because he knows just enough about you to understand that your mind doesn’t work in fully functional ways. Thankfully, he waits for you to look alive and turn towards him, apologizing.

He shrugs. “It will happen,” he says. “I just figured you should know that I talked to Sharon.”

You nod slowly, but then flinch. “Holy… has it been that long since the challenge?”

“Probably as long as you think it was.”

You look at the sky. “Man, I have to get back to work.”

“Probably for the best,” he says. “I don’t think Sharon was swayed.”

You shake your head. Another friend landed on the bottom rung next to you. “It’s such a shame. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

He laughs deeply. “I don’t believe I was dragged anywhere. If I’m at the bottom now, it’s because I’ve jumped into it.”

You try and smile but can’t reach, because he’s risked so much with his whole family on the line. “I hope you get out of this.” Now you’re swallowing, because you feel responsible for someone else you have no proof you can save.

He nods. “It was a risk worth taking,” he says, still smiling from the corner of your eye. “It wouldn't be a risk I could take were I not confident that you could scramble out of it.”

You smile, because you think he means it. “I’ll talk to Zaim,” you offer, “and see if he has anything new. Then, I’ll go to Raven.”

“Raven is on the edge of tipping,” Boris confirms. “Give her a solid push, and she’ll run over to where we are.”

“I surely hope so.”

Boris briefly pats you on the back, and then walks away. You walk back to the shelter, where Zaim lies on his side, content to watch the alliance self-destruct. As you sit on the edge, he pulls himself back up with a loud groan and sits next to you.

“How you holding?” you ask.

He sighs. “Same as ever. I think at this point I’ve let go.” With a smirk, he adds “it’s more fun to try and push their buttons anyways.”

You shake your head. You expected this after you left him alone with the chief three of the Yanada Five. Right now, you feel like a disappointed yet secretly impressed parent. “What do you think that will accomplish?”

He chuckles. “It will make me feel good, at least. Besides, to be honest…” Another sigh. “I feel like our future is limited. If I go out, I will not let my flame die down to the wind. I will gladly say that I stood up to them and made it clear that they cannot treat people the way they treat us.”

You nod, patting him on the back.

“At the very least, that’s what I’ll tell my fellows in the Chamber of Commerce,” he admits. He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach. “I know I may appear quite unprofessional.”

You close your eyes at the real world implications of your performances on the show. You haven’t thought of it much because you aren’t as connected to your friends as you should be. You have no TV. The newspaper articles about someone from Taos joining the show will come and go. You will go back to life. But you haven’t thought about the long reach of the show. What will be said and taken away. What you’re saying about society. What you’re saying about yourself and people like you, especially in your swan song.

In the anxious silence you share, it’s clear that Zaim is thinking about it. Zaim has spent four decades being torn between being who he desires, and who he thinks others want him to be. He’s loud, bold, and does not- cannot- ignore how others act towards him, just as much as he does not- cannot- react inauthentically to things he thinks are wrong, and can only try to sift through the consequences later.

You can’t stay and think anymore. If you do, you’ll stay forever. You clear your throat and look at him with a sincere, shaky smile. “The plan right now is… I think we gotta get Raven. If we get Raven, we secure Boris. He’s already on board.”

Zaim grins. “So you’re telling me that there’s an open door.”

You nod. “Definitely something we can do.”

He claps your shoulder in pride, still grinning. “I suppose I’ll confirm my loyalty to Boris and try and lock him down.” He stops for a second and asks “Are you going to be okay talking with Raven?”

You close your eyes, hands clasped, because you know you can’t tell him you’ll be fine with a straight face. All you can admit is “It’s only going to be real if I do.” Then, you sigh sorrowfully and blurt “I don’t know what happened to us.” You cover your mouth as if that will stop words that already escaped, but now that you said them, you feel a lot looser, like the rope that binds you has loosened and you better run before it ties you up again.

Zaim only nods. While you have the energy, you tell him “I’m gonna go get that done.” _Before I loathe it,_ you think.

“Good luck,” you hear him say, “and Godspeed.”

You smile until you’re far enough to feel his presence disappear, leaving you alone.

You don’t walk too far until you hear Ronnie’s voice, far before you feel Miranda’s presence. As you make out the familiar name of “Boris” you deduce that it’s probably chaotic anger towards whatever he told Sharon. As you get closer, you deduce that it’s very true- even if Ronnie wanted to hide something, she’d be awful at it.

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s _donezo!”_ Ronnie declares, finally letting loose with pure anger. “ _Done. Zo!”_ You hear silence as someone replies, then she continues “Dude, just get past it. You just had one less person to worry about.”

“Did I before?”

You didn’t notice how close to them you were until you heard Raven’s pointed reply. You’re trying to take deep breaths when you haven’t much breath to share. You can’t see the five, and they can’t see you, but you can hear them better now.

Ronnie is silent for far too long. Then she yells “No one even said that! But with Boris gone, no matter what, you’re in the finale. We don’t have to turn on each other until the finale!”

Another short bit passes by. You hear a quieter voice- certainly Miranda’s- mumble something you can’t hear. Feeling brazen, you get closer to the conversation. You scramble to hide behind a nearby tree, and shush production to avoid giving yourself away.

“Stay with us, and you will make the end,” Miranda finishes. “I promise.”

“That you will,” Sharon chimes in. Suspicious; she shouldn’t be happy about that.

Raven doesn’t respond, and you look at her to understand why. Then, you remember that you aren’t supposed to see them, and judging by her own eye contact, that they damn sure didn’t expect to see you. You hear someone get up and Ronnie stands in her line of sight, glaring at you.

“Eavesdropping?” she sneers, ever the willing antagonist.

You walk from behind the tree. “It isn’t hard with you,” you admit. “I wasn’t two steps away from camp before I heard you.”

She groans, insulted. “Look, I told you all not to make a fuss,” she whines. “What do you do? You stir the whole damn camp up trying to pull something impossible together.”

You look at Miranda, and she glares back condescendingly, eyebrow raised, as if to say _are you quite done?_ You just laugh. Zaim was right, disturbing their peace when they give you none of your own is cathartic.

You feel Raven’s eyes still on the side of your face, and you can’t tell if it’s a healing touch or a slap. You turn to her, and she forces a smile. “Exile was fun,” she brags with a forced, angry grin, because apparently _fuck you_ wasn’t enough syllables.

You grin back, tense. “I knew you could handle it,” you reply. “Just like I taught you.” She just laughs, clasping her hands together with a violent clap that you swear even Zaim could hear.

“Do you ever not have an attitude?” Ronnie barks. You don’t look at her, but at Miranda, who’s smirking the entire time. “You run your mouth every time something goes on you didn’t like.” You don’t say anything, because you notice Miranda’s little chuckle after Ronnie finishes going off.

Looking at Raven, you point at Miranda.

“Thank you for gracing me with your presence,” Miranda says listlessly, as though she’s bored with you and not tensed up and ready to fight.

“Notice how every time Ronnie goes off,” you tell Raven, “Miranda shows a little joy. That’s because Ronnie is either her shield or her goat.”

Ronnie scoffs, sitting with arms crossed. “Nice try.” Meanwhile, Raven is differing from the group in that she gives you the courtesy to speak while not acting burdened to hear you.

“If you go to the end with them,” you insist, “at best you are making fire. If Sharon is loyal to them, you may not even make it that far.”

Ronnie stands up, facing you. “Okay, why the hell are you trying to scheme in front of us?”

You laugh in sarcastic shock. “My God, are you actually trying that?”

Miranda shrugs. “Touché.”

You point at Miranda. “If you two get to the end, I’m voting for Miranda. Guaranteed.” Then, you add “Maybe then she’ll be glad Esther kept me around.”

Outraged, Ronnie gets in your face. “What’s wrong with you?” she yells, loud enough to make your ears ring, close enough that you can feel her spit. “You’ve been a total crybaby ever since that fuckin’ girl you like went and drowned herself.”

“ _Get out of my face,_ ” you warn, gritting your teeth to restrain your balled fist.

Ronnie raises her hand, and is about to say something, but you hear a patting sound on the dirt and she turns away. You don’t have to look over to sense that it’s Miranda beckoning her over, looking Ronnie in the eyes.

She throws her hand down. “Fine!” she says. “Don’t want you to hit me!” She mumbles “fucking freak.” She doesn’t look at you again, but you can feel the tension and anger radiating from her. You realize she isn’t ignorant to how others see her. She thinks she’s right, because she’s against you, and you’ve never felt so small.

You look at Raven, who’s looking at you with fear, like it’s her you want to hit. And you hate that. You never were the monster. You never have been the monster.

You just want to be left alone, but you know you can’t be.

“ _Don’t look at me like that,”_ you say again, pleading this time.

Raven’s eyes close, her hands clasped, her head down. Is she praying for you? Does she just pity you? Does she just want you to go? You feel like in a place where you shouldn’t be. You close your eyes, exhausted, angry, disgusting.

“You aren’t them,” you insist. “Don’t let them control you.”

Raven sighs, as though being the object of control is despicable and inevitable.

You walk off, while Ronnie shouts behind you. “Yeah? Let’s hope she’s not like you! If she’s got anything good about her, she won’t be!”

You want to walk back so badly, lay into her with every ounce of hatred and anger that you’ve had. You want to tell her every wretched thing you can think of, even if they aren’t true. You hate her so much that it feels foreign to her. But you can’t. You can’t go back. You can’t even tell her to stop antagonizing you. Going back is what they expect you to do. It’s how they anticipate having to blame you. It’s how it becomes your fault.

You’re their monster, but they made you.

_\-----_

_You can’t get the way that Thompson acted out of your mind. He returned with a short temper, defensive to every question you asked._

Did you get any fish _was met with_ I mean, can you see any.

Did you have problems with the river _was met with_ If you can find the damn ocean, I won’t have any problems.

Where’s the fishing equipment _was met with_ It’s away, it’s away, why are you so worried?

You don’t need to be so defensive _never left your tongue, because you feared it would be met with_ You don’t have to be this way, _when you know you didn’t do anything wrong, but are scared you did._

_Right now he’s resting in the shelter, nearly asleep, his padded orange vest enough to break any subtlety in nature (but great for standing out enough to be rescued, you note). Next to him is a woman with pale blond hair and cowboy boots who hasn’t thought to introduce herself to you (maybe because she’s too busy being near him). The entire time, you know something has to be wrong. You know he’s not telling the whole truth. As much as he tries to make it about you, you know it isn’t just you._

_You look at Esther. She’s chopping wood, doing more work than you ever would have. You pace yourself. It’s what you do. Enough to be vital, but never excessive on your body. You wonder if she thinks you’re lazy, but judging by how thoroughly she moves the axe through the logs, she’s not thinking of anything._

“I’m a hardcore lumberjill,” she said beforehand, not even looking up enough from the bag she set down to make her face visible through her red hair. “If you ever need someone to chop something up for a few hours, I’m your gal.”

_That’s what she’s doing right now. You’re both in your element._

_Your element right now is quietly looking amongst the various items- the tool kit, the pot, the fire equipment- none of which have been moved amongst the meager homestead you just built from sticks, rocks, and bamboo that’s clearly far from its natural habitat. Amongst it all, you can’t find the fishing equipment._

_You look at Thompson in the shelter, and Esther chopping wood. The others in the campground are also doing menial tasks, and those away are probably getting water, yet there’s only one person that’s really in your focus in a positive way._

_One that, if you leave, will find you._

_Probably because no one will know what they're doing except for you._

_You trek along the path you carved towards the river with your machete to start your great search. You know the river isn’t too far away- you would reckon Greg and Anita are getting water from it (if Greg would even allow the river’s mud to touch his shoes). You just know, that as you set it as north in your internal compass, that there’s a lot of land going east to west._

_You feel a tap on your shoulder. Before you turn around, you know that it’s Esther._

_“Whatchu up to?” she asks, as the two of you keep walking. “I knew there was someone missing from camp. Someone tall.”_

_You grin at the comment that wasn’t even a compliment, trying to keep yourself from blushing. To hide the fact that you failed at it, you say “I’m looking for something. Something that should be interesting.”_

_“What is it?”_

_You turn right into the thick grass off the beaten path. “Fishing equipment.”_

_Not missing a second, she follows. Soon you're both shrouded by trees on all sides. “You don’t think Vern brought it back?”_

_It takes you a second to realize she’s referring to Thompson’s first name. “I have my doubts,” you explain. “I just don’t think he’d be as defensive as he was if he wasn’t hiding something.”_

_“Ooh. Like he’s trying to distract us from the fact that he’s a liar.”_

_You nod. “Something akin to that.”_

_Esther is about to say something before you quite literally stumble upon a box. You nearly trip and fall over, but maintain balance. Esther sees it and gasps, shaking you by your shoulder._

_“I thought it’d be further away,” you admit._

_“He’s shit at hiding.”_

_You snort briefly at that and, without fanfare, go to open the tackle box. Three of the rows look relatively normal, if jostled about, but the fourth you notice holds the foldup fishing rod- or what’s left of it._

_Esther notices, and laughs in devious shock. “He got mad! ”_

_You nod, taking the rod out. For most of it, it’s as you would expect. It’s only at the end where you notice the part with the hook at the end has been snapped right off- an impressive feat._

_“I should have put him on heavy lifting,” Esther says, “because daaamn, that boy’s strength.”_

_“Something to make up for his lack of wit, I’m sure,” you respond bitterly as it dawns on you that you have no fishing equipment now. All the bait and tackle is useless now that you don’t have a place to put the hook. You can get by on rice and whatever luxury survival foods you brought, but when that’s gone, you should be able to still rely on fish, and now you can’t._

_“What a liar,” you hiss. “What a damned waste.”_

_“He’s so going first, I promise,” Esther insists._

_You take that small bit of comfort and go to put the rod back when you notice something. Just below where it was. You hmm, curious, and then pull it out. It’s a small necklace adorned with wooden beads around a cross, a jewel in its center._

_“Pretty,” you muse._

_Esther gasps, taking it from you. “Dude, that’s the idol,” she says._

_You smile. “Ooh, and Thompson left it? Anyone could just go and find it.” You place it around your neck. “And take it.”_

_Esther looks away, and when you look you notice a producer looking back at her from the line of cameras you still try and adjust yourself to ignore. After some chatter that’s as engaging as a conversation between Peanuts parents, she turns back to you, and you pretend you’re not on a TV show. “Dude, you can’t take that,” she says. “It’s against the rules.”_

_You hold a finger up. “Wait,” you say, because this reminds you of the paper in your bra._

_You pull it out, and Esther wolf-whistles. “It’s a party now!”_

_You turn red, but decide to spice it up. “Not now, but keep a pin in that.” She wolf-whistles again, which is something as you aren’t the most natural flirt. Flirting with other women is usually such a gamble too, but you pulled it off without having to lie that you were joking. You count that as a win, that is until you remember you still haven’t opened it. Too quickly, you pull it open, tearing a (thankfully blank) piece off._

_“Read it,” you order. “It’ll explain a lot.”_

_She does at lightspeed, and grins wider than ever. Suddenly, she reaches over to hug you, and you let her, too stunned to return it or ask why she’s touching you, but certainly not wanting to do anything about it. It’s pleasant, but astonishingly rare, and you feel like someone else. Right now, you’d rather be anyone else than what you entered as._

_She lets you go. “Now I don’t know what the hell to do,” she admits._

_You’re thinking as well. You absently dig through the tackle box to try and find some salvagable items to take back to camp, when you run across a gopher-shaped bait item. You reckon a fish doesn’t even know what a gopher is enough to find it appetizing, but the ring of dirt around it hits you like a tidal wave of its own._

_“Duh,” you mumble, annoyed at yourself. Esther notices, and hmms in a questioning tone. You look and notice a slab of bark near one of the trees._

_“Can you dig, do you think?”_

_Esther grins proudly. “These muscles can break through rock,” she promises, and you smile. You hand her the bark and she puts two and two together._

_“Waiwaiwait,” she says, as if she just figured this out. “Are you sure you wanna hide this? Cause it might be good if they find it again.”_

_You think. “It could be,” you say thoughtfully. You think of Thompson, and how he must have thrown the box into the grass so rapidly that he left behind his most prized possession, and how he would be searching for it. How he would find it, play it, and excise it from the game. Then you think of Thompson’s one ally, the one who would rather lie in the shelter with him than do actual work, and who talks to him more than anyone else combined. Someone who would keep his torch lit with embers after you squashed the flame._

_Then, at rapid speed, you formulate a plan, one that you hope Esther is impressed by, one that helps you grow from baby Pagong who doesn’t know the game to one with agency._

_That’s what makes you decide “Maybe it would be, but not for awhile.”_

_Esther looks at you. “Are you thinking what I think you are?” You nod, and she starts digging, adding “Kree, you’re too awesome for words sometimes.”_

_You beam, reveling in her proud astonishment. She looks like she’s seeing a magical creature, and you certainly feel like a magician._

_“Dig it shallow,” you advise. “We gotta dig it back up in a few days."_


	6. Tremors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree goes too far, then wonders how things changed

When the host isn’t talking to you, you close your eyes, look at Brian on the jury (always making eye contact), look over the Tribal Council set (like you’re not familiar with the wooden canoes, pattern-carved wooden handrails, and pool of untamed water you wish you could bathe in) or trace shapes into the fire.

The shapes always go away and change into new ones that you try and trace before they go away. They distract you from hearing what others say, indulging your compulsive need to fade away and shrink from memory, to not think or confront anyone, even though if your eyes err above the fire you make eye contact with the man who told you to show who you truly are- but the closer you get the more painful it is, the more disgusted they are.

You respond to questions in the most basic form, because you know the pressure you’re under. Experience is a teacher of many wounds and no sympathy. What is being taught is that if you say anything that triggers Ronnie’s senses, she will come barking and growling like a dog, with Miranda holding the leash. Silence is the lesson you’ve learned to avoid that.

You keep your head down in obedience to a higher power, even though you know you should be saying something. If this is your last Tribal, you have to leave an impact. You have to show that not only are you not okay with Ronnie’s behavior, that they shouldn’t be either. You understand what Zaim meant- if people left their TV sets believing that you earned how you were treated, that it was acceptable behavior, that you _deserve_ it...

You can’t think of what that will do to your self-worth. You can’t.

Your eyes are trying to play tricks on you with the fire, carrying you away again, when suddenly-

“Shut the fuck up!”

Everyone's screaming.

You’re startled because it’s not just Ronnie, like you expected, but just as unexpected is that you can’t hear Zaim at all. Everyone else is interjecting something you can’t make out, even Miranda.

“How dare you try and pull that shit with me!” she screams, and you know this isn’t her crying wolf to get her minimal wounds patched first. This is actual offense. You think she might actually be teary. “Fuck you, dude. Fuck you!”

Miranda shakes her head. “Shameful.”

“That’s a low blow,” Sharon complains. “Not that I would expect any less.”

Still open-mouthed like you forgot how to breathe, you slowly get the idea to turn towards Zaim. He’s not saying anything. He’s watching the others. He’s smiling. He’s smiling like he landed a knockout punch. Like he’s tired, bruised, but happy with how he performed.

The host notices your mystery. “Kree,” he says, “it’s like life was just awakened within you. What do you make of this emerging chaos?”

You try and think of a harmless, gormless phrase. “It was really loud and I missed what started it.”

“He said my fuckin’ kids wouldn’t be proud of me!” Ronnie accuses.

“You have kids?” you blurt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she moans.

“To be accurate,” Boris interjects, looking like he caught the bad end of a twister “Zaim asked ‘would your kids be proud of how you acted?’”

“That’s the same thing!” Ronnie says, turning as red as you did when Esther kissed you.

“He acts like this,” Sharon says with utmost passive aggression. “I ain’t surprised.”

“You wouldn’t think it, Sharon,” Zaim replies, still smiling, “but I am right here.”

“I know, you won’t shut up.”

There’s fireworks all around you, and all you want to do is plug your ears, hide under your seat, and wait them out, because you’re scared to death. That’s when the host looks at you.

_Joy to the world._

You mumble a quiet thank-you to him putting you in the limelight. “Your immediate reaction was to question that she had kids. If this is new information, does it put any of your past history with her into a new life?”

Ronnie puts her head in her hands. You can tell that she can’t believe she’s here, that her history with you has led to this moment where you can condemn or save her. You close your eyes, because you know what the right answer is, and what the wrong one is- and they’re far from the right or wrong ones for you.

You're about to do something wrong. Or right.

“I’ll say.”

Ronnie swivels her head towards you. “Oh, would you?”

You smile. “I think she’s angry because this news does redefine a lot to me,” you explain. “It’s no secret that Ronnie and I have had a lot of history. She’s laid out the bait and I’ve taken it, like…” You find the right words, and it starts to feel right to you. “I would say, like a dog to a whistle. No one can hear it to understand what disturbed me, but I know I did.”

“And what did I do that disturbs you so much?” Ronnie demands to know.

“Like you don’t know?” Her complete ability to be out of touch almost makes you pity her now. “You provided a fake deal where we would accept defeat or you would not be decent to us. Guess what, you haven’t been decent to any of us.”

“Stop your bitching!” she bitches.

You pay her no mind. “You don’t work because you don’t think any of us can get you to. Every time I talk to or around you you shout me down and chase me out after trying to rile me up as much as possible, but see no problem in talking about which of us to pick off that you want.” You’re looking at her, astonished at her _ignorance_ . “And you have _children?”_

She all but stands on her totem carved stool, perched on her knee and lifting up. “You’re gonna do it too? You actually think that’s right?” Miranda sighs, saying nothing. Zaim claps you on the shoulder. You look to the jury, and Brian is smiling back at you.

“Maybe not,” you admit. “But it felt necessary.”

Sharon shakes her head. “They’re downright disrespectful. I’m disappointed in all of them. Imagine if I told you that your family will be ashamed,” she says to Zaim. Zaim shrugs, indifferent but smiling. She turns to you and adds. “You and your… whoever loves you.”

Ouch. You give a hurt smile, but one that says you expected as much of her as she did of you.

Ronnie spits. You know she’s gonna try and lob a bomb at you. “Probably that bitch she loves that fell in the river.”

“Why are you so obsessed with that?” Your retort is so immediate that you didn’t run that through your mind, but you’re drawn to the fire it fans, so you roll with it. “Whenever you don’t like what I have to say, you bring that up. And that’s telling that my close friend ended up getting evacuated and it means more to you than it does me.”

It’s not true, you immediately know it isn’t true, and you almost want to take it back and apologize for saying that anyone has been any less of the person they once were due to that.

“Best friend?” Ronnie laughs. “Girl, you were in love with her. You talk about her like she fuckin’ died. As soon as you hit my beach the whole world could tell you wanted to fuck her.”

_“So what if I did?”_

It comes across as far more intimidating and angry than you expected, but you know what, you’re sticking to it. She forms a few words and gestures, refusing to let you know that she’s backing down, but if she has a thought, she doesn’t express it. The whole time, you keep her eye contact, to let her know what ended the conversation.

No one else responds, and you feel like in five words you said enough. You could say a lot about what Esther means to you, but all of it comes down to the same statement. _What does it matter? What if I did love her? What if I wanted her?_

_Leave me alone._

Someone holds your shoulder for a moment, because you’re shaking and still staring at Ronnie. You force yourself to calm down, but you don’t say anything. You don’t leave. You don’t change. You take awhile to look back over your shoulder to see who’s trying to calm you down.

Raven doesn’t look back at you, but she’s not letting you go for the world. She seems… overwhelmed. Like she wishes she wasn’t there. Like in her thoughts she has become you. You close your eyes and frown, because as of late she’s left a lot of bread crumbs that have led nowhere and everywhere.

“I mean, it’s all just chump change,” Sharon says. “We have a plan. We’re sticking to it. All of us.”

The host nods with an excited smile, because she just fed the beast. “Kree, she just told you she had a plan. What’s your response to that?”

You smile. “A plan of our own.”

Eagerly, the host admits “I can’t wait to see how this turns out. It is time to vote. Miranda, you’re up.”

You don’t really give a lot of attention to people this time, watching them as they walk away, and as they come back, sometimes only seeing their legs as they tread (or in Ronnie’s case, stomp indignantly) back and forth. The host calls you to vote, and you hear him a lot quicker than you usually do- no one has to tap your shoulder to get your attention. You walk up to the booth- a large palm hut with two open sides, an open top, and a wooden table with parchments, a pen, and a blue and black jar lined with a painting of a kangaroo. You always thought it was pretty, but now notice it only passively.

You have a job to do.

You go to write down a name. As usual, it starts on the left side as if you plan to take up the whole parchment, but you barely make it halfway. You go to put it away, but you remember production repeatedly reminding you that you need to show it to the camera.

So you do.

It reads “Miranda.”

“I think I cracked the case,” you say hesitantly, still allowing for a margin of error. “Good job hiding yourself, but I see how the others don’t move unless you say so.”

Then you put it away and walk back to the rest of the tribe.

The only one left to go is Raven. You feel her skirt drag against your skin as she goes. You place a lazy hand on it as she passes. She turns to you, and you whisper “please.”

That’s all you can say. She hears it, but doesn’t react, turning back to the voting booth. You’re helpless as she goes, hoping she writes down Miranda’s name and not yours. That’s all you can do at this point.

She returns, and though you look at her she’s not looking at anyone except the fire you find so interesting.

“I’ll go tally the votes,” the host says.

 _Good, more time for meditation,_ you think, but as he walks to the booth you’re too excited to clear your mind. You’re jittering in your seat. Something is happening tonight, and you’re prepared for it. You know things won’t be the same.

You aren't sure if it'll change for the better.

\-----

_"How did this happen?"_

\-----

_You hold up the last bamboo for the new shelter. “That one was a wreck,” you mutter to yourself._

_Esther yawns, but keeps it together enough to hold up another beam. “I’ll say. Do these people not even know how to wipe their asses?” You cough, gesturing to Raven, who holds the rope to tie it. Esther groans and says “Sorry that you got stuck with a bunch of dumbasses, Rave. Even Zaim’s doing more and he was on your tribe. Criminy.”_

_Raven chuckles, but doesn’t refute it. Quite like you did on exile, she weaves the rope in between the steady bamboo and the newest additions. You smile as she does, and as she meets your gaze she smiles back. The familiarity is powerful, and you feel fond of her as you see her do what you taught her to do on your second day of exile, when your shelter broke down and she was so close to crying but forced herself to keep it together._

_If you didn’t know how to survive, you would be her._

_“That’ll do her,” Esther says, letting go of the bamboo and watching it stay in place. She yawns again, saying “I’m gonna kill ‘em for making me do all the work.”_

_“It’d clear the shelter out pretty quick,” Raven admits._

_Esther laughs and you chuckle a little too. She stretches and says “If there’s anything else you need, give me a holler. I’ll be over here, doing…” she shrugs as she walks off. “Things.”_

_“Things,” you repeat with a smirk._

_“They’re very important!” she insists; apparently so much so that they required her to leave immediately. Next thing you know, she’s out of sight._

_You and Raven are left alone. Raven looks at the shelter, rope in hand. You think maybe you’re inspecting the bamboo from a distance when you feel her look at you. She doesn’t say anything, and you can’t think of anything productive to say or do… but you can’t feel at rest yet. You can’t help but feel there’s much more to be done._

_She notices, and turns back to the shelter. “Guessing they all need to be tied together just to make sure it’s extra fastened, not just in like, a chain gang, right?”_

_You nod. “The way they’re connected, if a storm hits it’ll split them down the tethers.”_

_“Good call,” she says. After a second, she adds “like I have any clue what that’s about.”_

_You chuckle, but shake your head wearily. She’s a lot different than the woman who had a panic attack about going back to her tribe that you remembered. Somehow, you knew she could survive it, but you know even still you underestimated her. She knows she’s not bringing a buffet to the table, but everything she has, she’s giving._

_She looks at you, and you look back through fluttering eyelids. She says “Tell you what, I’ll take care of the tying it together. You need some rest.”_

_You stand there, uncertain. “Are you sure you have it?”_

_“It’s like the one thing I know I can do,” she jokes. You smile, looking down at her because at six feet high it becomes as natural as learning how to tolerate how’s-the-weather-up-there jokes. She continues “No, seriously, take a breather. You and your crew have been working all day. I can finish up.”_

_You smile, and finally you feel the extent of the weariness that you’ve tried to suppress. “Thank you,” you say, holding her hand for a second. She lets you, rope in the other. After you let go, you say “I’ll be near the river.”_

_“Take care,” Raven says as you walk away._

_It’s a little ways to the river- a different portion than Guwing camp than is here at Yanada. Well, that’s not true, the river is flowing just next to camp, and it and the area around it are covered with jagged rocks and tree stumps. The nearest place to sit, the nearest sandy beach, is what’s a ways away._

_You follow the river as closely as you can. It isn’t easy, because there’s no path by it, but you do your damndest._

_You see Ronnie and Miranda talking gossip about something- well, Ronnie mostly, Miranda just listens and occasionally gives two words of input._  So this is Miranda's new friend, _you muse. Long blonde dreadlocks that are too thick and flimsy to be natural, knee-high green trenchcoat, a grin as loud as she is. The antithesis of who you knew Miranda to be. You figure Ronnie may be fun to meet soon, but with all of her volume and close proximity to whatever it is people are doing, you’re surprised you haven’t yet._

_Anita meets you on the walk. If she’s tired, she hasn’t shown it yet, machete in hand, tribe buff covering her forehead. Maybe it's because she's worried for her fate after Johnny went, but she's been a lot more open lately- and likable. She waves at you, and you stop for her. She’s smiling as she approaches you, as though a whole day’s worth of path clearing wasn’t enough. You misjudged her after your first impression of her was her tripping over a log. Even if she’s not the strongest, she’s scarily dedicated._

_“Anywhere else I can do my thing?” she asks._

_You think, because you’re tired and any thought will take a lot of effort from you, but Esther relinquished her title of Guwing leader to you for the sake of the tribe building the new merged camp. It comes to you far too slowly as you think about walking just before you got here._

_“The best path you can clear… probably from the shelter to just where the shore of the river takes off.” You think, and for your own leisure, add “And maybe just around and above there in general.”_

_“Good idea,” she says. “I’ll get that done the best I can. Don’t want anyone cutting themselves on any of the plants or anything.”_

_You smile, because even in survival mode, someone has to look out for other people. You watch her leave, walking backwards to meet your farewell wave, which she returns. You continue walking to the shore, finally getting to an open clearing to a rockface just adjacent. You look for a path down, which is steep and rocky but, you’re sure, doable._

_You start to climb down it, steadying yourself, clambering down on all fours behind you like a spider. You notice the dirt move beneath your arms, giving a surprised, unnerved “whoa”. You inch your way down further, on shakier ground as you go. Your heart is pumping, but this is nothing you haven’t done before. You look beneath you at the sand and try and deduce how far away it is. Just in the range of sprained ankle territory, so you keep lowering yourself._

_That’s when the dirt collapses from underneath you._

_You yell in shock as the ground crumbles away. Production scrambles next to you but do nothing, just watching to get a look at whatever blood and skin you leave. You scramble a ways down and get where you assume is low enough, but can’t think as more of the dirt on your nearside falls to the sand. You try and look at it, but the ground catches up quick._

_That’s when you feel a hand grasp you. It’s leverage enough to jump down before asking whose it is- right now, a hand is a hand is a hand. You feel another hand clasp your side to catch you. They can’t carry you, but they’re enough to help slow the fall, and your feet don’t hurt nearly as much as you expected when you land, stumbling on the ground._

_You look up to see Esther there, eyebrow raised. “You get something out of scaring the shit out of me?” she asks, trying to look angry but smirking too much._

_“Thanks,” is all you say, standing up._

_She warms into a smile and gestures to an empty jug underneath the small cliffside that shades the beach from twenty feet above. “Come here,” she says._

_More work, you groan internally, but follow her. You’re surprised when she takes a seat just to its left, somewhere between sitting down and falling over. She pats the seat furthest from the jug, nearest her. You comply, because even if it would be polite to try and keep a respectable distance, you aren’t feeling that way._

_Maybe you should think of the game and the vote. About telling her the best plan is to vote whichever Yanada that Raven wants. About avoiding that blasted purple rock situation that Esther told you about way too lithely, where all those who didn't get voted for or saved leave their games to random chance. About saving your tribe, being their hero. But you don't. You're not feeling that way._

_You're feeling human._

_You sit next to her. Her hand is tangled in your furthest hand, and she’s folded up in herself like a cocoon, head in her lap, red hair a messy display, knees to her head, flannel lying limp over her and exposing her skin. You place an arm on her back, and you can feel her spinal cord a little too close for comfort, too primal to touch. You steady yourself and place it around her hip. You still keep your posture, sitting crosslegged next to her, eyes closed in meditation._

_You meditate for awhile. It isn’t clear, it isn’t without distraction, but you’re happy. Every once in awhile, you remember where you are and who you’re with. You feel safe when you shouldn’t be, hidden when you’ve nothing to outrun. Like hiding in a house during a ferocious thunderstorm. You’re sheltered. You’re dry. You’re fine._

_When you open your eyes, she does too. Slowly, she reaches for the water jug._

_“Where you going?” you ask groggily._

_“I figure I should at least pretend I was productive,” she says with a yawn. “I’m gonna get some water. Probably clean myself off too.”_

_“Out there?”_

_She chuckles. “No, on Neptune. Course out there!”_

_You frown, climbing to your feet. “That’s… I don’t think you should.”_

_“Why not?”_

_You gesture to the river. “The current’s strong right now,” you explain, “and you’re too tired to accurately deal with any reactions it causes.”_

_She places a hand up, laughing. “Okay, I cannot process brainy-speak right now, but don’t worry.”_

_“I’m worried about you,” you admit. You want to grab her hand, keep her here, but you can’t be that clingy. You can’t restrict her. That isn’t right. She isn’t you._

_“Don’t worry,” she repeats. To calm you down, she sets the jug down for a moment and walks to you. You stare blankly until she kisses your forehead, standing on her tiptoes. A flash of red hair in your face is all you see, and she wraps you in her arms for just a moment. Her hair falls out of the way to show you those expressive brown eyes that try and comfort and convince you._

_“Don’t worry,” she repeats._

_You really want her to stay._

\-----

You wish you were still there. You can’t go any further in your mind than there. Nothing after that feels like a memory. Nothing about it feels like it matters more than a constant present that will never be a past.

You don’t think of Ronnie.

You don’t think of the grate challenge.

You don’t think of the others talking in front of you.

You don’t think of Miranda.

You don’t think about the surrender conditions Ronnie tried to force upon you.

You don’t think of the boat, of Boris and his bottle of wine.

You don’t think of Exile Island and how to best present yourself and how that challenging task is all that you have left.

You don’t think of Ronnie’s children, of Ronnie giving you Raven’s name and the others being so desperate to try and survive that you can’t even ethically consider swaying them away from the only way they think they can live.

You don’t think of the river, the crash, the information you got far too slowly, the way you cried in Raven’s arms when you absolutely did not want to, and you don’t think of how a piece of who you were died the day you had to start being self-sustaining in your actions with other humans.

In your head, you’re still there, under the cliffside, with Esther.

But you’re not then, you’re now.

Right now, you need to be more “now” than you ever thought.


	7. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree snaps to the present

You never start at the beginning on your own.

Now you’ve tested that out.

Alone is exactly how you would describe yourself. You’re not at exile- that would be too easy. Everyone knows that’s where you want to be, so Ronnie sent Boris when she won. “Revenge,” she claimed, but it could have been for Boris defecting or for you talking back to her.

Maybe you took it too far. Boris said as much when you asked him the other day. _“People are sensitive about… family things,” he told you as you sat on the shelter together. Like you don't know. “Your issues are…” He stops to find the right word that isn’t condescending bullshit. “Very, very legitimate. Relating it to one’s family, though… that can hit home. Because how you are seen in the eyes of those you love can hit at your core.”_

_You nod. You agree, but at the same time don’t. “I was still justified to get that angry,” you insist. Then you rest your head down and sigh. “I had to have been.”_

_He waits until you sit up and meets your gaze. Looking around, he says “Not at all”. You’re almost disheartened until you see him aggressively wink. You want to hug him, but you just laugh, because Boris is not subtle._

_He whispers “You may have been angry. And others may have noticed. It may have even made you do regrettable things. But it's not without reason.”_

_“Thank you,” you tell him._

No, no, you’re doing it again. You can’t get caught up in the past. The past defines you more than it should- you think back so often that the past becomes your present and you never escape it. You can’t do that. You’re here now.

You’re here alone.

Boris is at exile. Ronnie took Miranda and their loved ones on reward. Sharon makes a point not to talk to you, turning her head dramatically whenever you approach. Zaim is… for God’s sake, you can’t even admit it to yourself, and he was just voted out, not killed or anything. Ronnie was right, maybe you are too emotional, but he was voted out for offending the ersatz queen. Will anyone who opposes her get the same treatment?

Most importantly… why does Raven keep aiding it?

You haven’t talked to her. You can’t. For some reason, her approval means a lot to you. You know that if you said anything, she would think you were a monster- if she doesn’t already. But that fate seems to have been assigned to you. But you know you have to. If you stand any shot at all, you have to talk to her.

Jesus Christ.

You’re still overwhelmed, and want nothing more than to look at the sky and make it all go away. Make it all stop, go home, go back in time and never sign up for this, stay in your routine of going out and taking back what little of the land you can make yours, that no one cares about except for you, and be comfortable and alone. Because right now, there’s so much noise that you want to scream, between the cameras, the people, the river rushing that never lets your mind rest, at ease, leaving you standing in place with your head in your hands, purely overwhelmed.

But you don’t have it easy. This is a time where you need to put in the bitter work.

You sigh and start to walk away from the shelter to find her.

You’re not sure where she is. You try and look for her along the path that Anita carved out, staying there because part of you really wants to not find her. But you can’t convince yourself that you tried and failed. You’re too far in your own head to believe that. Still, you walk the path until you forget that you ever tried to look for her.

You take the last path Anita carved, towards the rockface. You try not to think about it when you walk up there, because it’s only filled with bad memories. It’s where you were acquainted with sorrow and realized you couldn’t handle it. It’s synonymous with your anger, your sorrow, your monstrosity.

As you walk closer, you realize it’s where Raven is, sitting a few feet away from the edge with her knees to her chin, covered with midnight blue hair longer than ever. She’s looking at the same river that has become so prominent to all of you.

_Goddamn it._

You want to walk away. Run away. But what’s the alternative? Accept sixth or fifth place? Watch the finale from the jury bench as you prepare to vote Miranda for exactly the reason she planned for you to? Yet even in a rebellion, you would only get three at best- enough for a rock draw. All the work in the world would get you a small chance at rebellion.

_But wouldn’t that be a swan song no one would forget?_

All your thoughts stop there. Words are one thing. Action is another. You can say what you want, but if you don’t do anything about it, aren’t you letting it happen too?

You have to talk to her.

“You know I’ve known you’re here the entire time?”

You’re launched out of your mind before you can chastise yourself for being there. Raven doesn’t look at you, and her voice could have been a figment of your imagination, but somehow you know it’s real.

Now you really have to talk to her.

You walk up towards her. Neither of you look each other in the eye as you sit down, legs dangling over the cliff. You two are polar opposites. She’s still elegant after nearly five weeks in, as though her luxury item was a full makeup and hair kit. She’s beautiful in a way that feels unapproachable, on a higher plane, yet you know that you are a part of her growth. You are a part of her. As much as you both would like to act like that wasn’t the case, you cannot untie your Survivor experiences from each other.

She finally speaks.

“Nice meeting your mom.”

You close your eyes but force a smile. “I’m sure it was,” you say woodenly. “She’s really cool.”

“It was really authentic,” she says wistfully.

You sigh, head bowed. _Authentic_ was really one way to describe it. Messy would also work. Thankfully no one interjected with an insult when you were crying in her arms when she entered and left (though you may have put Ronnie off from talking to you again after last night). You wish yours was smooth like Raven reuniting with her sister- full of cheer, glee, and good nature. It’s amazing that she even paid attention to others- even more that she seemed to admire your wreck.

“It was just nice to see her,” you admit. You’re tearing up again, but choke it down.

There’s a little more silence. She sets her arm on the dirt, patting the distance between you. You aren’t sure what to do, but reach back to place your hand next to hers. She gives a sad “hmm” but places hers on top. You get the sense (for more reasons than the fact that cameras and boom mics have surrounded you so closely they create cool shade) that this will not be the heart to heart you expected.

“I don’t know what to make of you,” she admits.

You groan, because you can’t answer that in any way that doesn’t leave you pained and down five minutes.

“I _don’t,_ ” she insists. “That’s not such a crazy idea. Even if people try and insult you for it, you really haven’t been the same since jury started. A lot colder. A lot angrier. You haven’t been the person I met.”

You throw your head down. You don’t know how to justify it. You don’t know how to explain it. You want to tell her nothing’s changed, you haven’t changed, nothing’s wrong with you, _nothing’s wrong with you, absolutely nothing is wrong with you,_ but everyone thinks that you’re less of a person than before and the idea infuriates you.

“I mean, people have said that forever,” you reply. You get more bitter as you go. “People have been saying that on my tribe over… complete bulshit, to be frank. The more that happens, the more I am just… over it. Over trying to be nice when it gets me nowhere. But I am not a different person.” You admit the truth, and it hurts you more than it could ever hurt her. “Maybe you just didn’t actually like the person you met.”

She doesn’t say anything. You try and imagine it’s for a reason other than silent agreement.

Another thought comes to you. “Even if I do act differently, like… it’s not for the hell of it. I have reasons that I’m acting the way you don’t like.”

Raven turns towards you so sharply that you feel the wind slap you in the face. “None of us know that!” she yells.

You don’t look back at her. “I think it’s pretty self-evident. Ever since then I’ve been pretty open about it.”

“I mean, you’ve been upset,” she bites back. “You’ve been pretty in their face about it. But as how all of it actually affected you, I don’t think even your friends know.”

“So why do you think you’re entitled to an explanation?”

She takes her hand away and leans on one arm towards you. “Am I not your friend?”

You raise my arms. “I mean, my friends don’t know apparently. Why should you?”

She groans, but doesn’t have an answer outside of generic frustration at your… you-ness. You take that as floor to continue. “I’ve been going by the seat of my pants,” you say. “If you don’t like that, whatever, but I’m trying to heal myself, not impress anyone. I can’t just sit and keep quiet when I have something to say. I’m not like you.”

You weren’t sure if you meant that as a compliment or insult, but judging by how she reacts, it may very well be the latter. She throws herself on her back so hard you hear her head thump and cringe.

“So that’s really what you think of me.”

You sigh. That’s the truth, and you don’t like that is. “Apparently I need a new mask,” you say. _After my old one got swept away by the river,_ you mean.

“Jesus,” she mutters, resigned. You can tell she wishes she wasn’t here, because it’s probably the same body language you give off. You should leave. You want to leave as badly as she does. If you do, nothing changes, but if you don’t you two may be killed by the truth.

“You know why I haven’t joined you?” she bites back. “It’s because I have nowhere to go. Sure, Yanada hasn’t made me feel comfortable, but over there? With you? You may need me, but you’ve provided no proof that I’m anything other than number four over there too. You left me behind the second you were on your own, and you’ve never offered a way back.”

There’s so much you want to say, that’s so tied into so many other things, things that matter to you so much. Things you wished she could understand. Things she might not be sympathetic to. Things the game itself isn't sympathetic to. _Who cares if you're sad,_ it says. _That's not gonna get you numbers._

Before you can say even one word, she jumps to her feet. She goes to walk away, but takes an uneasy step toward the edge of the rockface.

Then she trips.

_“No!”_

You enter a world of silence that feels like it could last forever. You don’t feel anything, you don’t remember anything. You’ve never felt so peaceful in all thirty-two days since you’ve been here. You never want to leave.

Your eyes open without your consent. You’re staring at the dirt with grass growing in small patches. You don’t know where you are. You scramble for thoughts that aren’t there. You don’t know who you are.

You look up to see someone on their knees, staring at you with astonishment. You turn away to figure out why she matters to you as much as she does. You see that you’re a foot or two away from the edge of a cliff, barely above a merciless river. Instinctively, you stand up and walk away from it before you fall off. You’d hate to fall off. You’d hate to endanger yourself. You’d hate to drown…

That’s what stops the blackout.

That’s what makes you Kree again.

You fall to your knees, overwhelmed by the rush of memories. A lot of them hurt, scratching and clawing at your mind, and you just want them gone. Some of them hold your shoulder, grab your hand, wrap their arms around your side, kiss you on the forehead, and suddenly the painful, violent ones are manageable.

You slowly climb to your feet.

You’re happy.

Suddenly, the woman- Raven- runs towards where you are and hugs you. Her neck barely reaches your shoulder and stops trying, but she holds to you like she’s terrified of losing you… and you’re terrified of losing you too.

“Kree,” she chokes. She’s breathless, winded, but okay.  “I didn’t know.”

You hug her back. For the first time, you feel tears just below your eyes.

“I didn’t know,” she repeats, and it sounds more and more like an apology. You pull her close, wanting her to be okay, wanting her to understand you, because she may do it better than you do.

You’re not who you thought you were.

“I didn’t either,” you promise. You’re choking on your words, but it’s fine.

You’re not who you thought you were.

She lets you go before you let her go. You’re terrified of loss. That’s your fundamental. You always have been. You can’t stop losing people, and each time it hurts.

You eventually let her go and dry your eyes. She’s a fair distance away from the cliff above the river. She’s just fine.

“Thank you,” she says, but you know it’s not because you saved her, because you didn’t. It’s because you’re not what they thought you were. “I’m sorry.”

You nod. “Take care,” you say in a warmer, more affectionate tone. “I’ll see you later.”

She doesn’t say anything to you. The last thing you see of her is her waving sadly. You take steps back to camp where you started. Slow steps. There are no eyes on you. You can’t hear anyone’s breath but your own. Your thoughts are emptier, more resolved, less burdened. You understand them now.

You’re not what you thought you were.

You take a deep breath, and you leave.

 


	8. Burn Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree feels the flames hit her and stands up to the empire

You’ve basically given up hope on winning the challenge.

This challenge is an easy concept to grasp. There are a bunch of torches in a diamond. Six are yours. The flames and the torches are color coded. You have a blowtorch and a snuffer. Light yours, snuff all the others. Right now, that snuffer is getting a lot of use. 

It’s nightfall, and the torches lit are all you have. When they’re out the blue sparks guide your way. You’re green, Boris is orange, and Raven is a suitable blue. Any color other than that, you snuff on sight. Maybe it’s spite that motivates you, maybe it’s the natural consequence of being the monster they made, maybe it’s even because you value Boris’ safety more than yours. Either way, if it’s yellow, red, or purple, it has to go. 

And go they do. Someone’s behind you lighting all their torches judging by their footsteps and the click of their blowtorch. You look behind to see what color it is. The next one lit is purple. You assume it’s Sharon, if you heard the host right. 

You loop around, avoiding her so she doesn’t see or sense you (if she bothers to give you the time of day) and to where she just was. You snuff the purple ones with extreme prejudice, but on your way back, light a torch of yours and snuff a couple of yellow and orange ones. The snuffer is heavier than the blowtorch, but wielding it is second nature. 

Then you bump into someone. You instinctively apologize, but when you try and move out of the way, the presence is still there. You’re confused, and move backward, but they remain. “Boris?” you ask sheepishly.

“What’s that?” you hear him in the distance.

“Nothing!” you reply, then face the presence. You hold your blowtorch a considerable distance before your face to try and see them. You can’t make them out, but you see a strand of innocent, pale-blonde hair.

Frustrated, you try and move past them, and next thing you know you’re on the ground, searing burn on your chest. You cry in pain, throwing the lit blowtorch so hard the fire switches off before you can see it. You look to see Miranda stepping behind your head, saying “Jeez, you’re clumsy”. She steps on your blowtorch and goes out of sight. 

You climb to your hands, then feet, nursing your head and then your burn mark, skin still screaming from violation. You lean against an unlit torch and try to find what’s left of your blowtorch. You lean down slowly to pick it up. It’s crunched up and the tube is bent. You try and flick it, but you are the last thing it will ever burn. 

You go to call the host for a product malfunction, but when you do you hear someone scream in jubilation. Then: “Ronnie! Wins immunity!”

You want to throw the messed up torch, but you manage to hold onto it by the grace of God. Ronnie is at the start with the host by the river, ecstatically slamming her hands on the railing near where a set of unbiased torches are lit. You see Sharon run to hug her, and Miranda golf clap politely. It’s not visible but you know she’s smiling. 

Ronnie really is the perfect distraction. 

You slowly walk to the platform. You want to walk up with all the authority and righteous indignation that you can muster, but your head is still swimming so you take your time. You lean against the railing next to Ronnie. 

“That’s for Rebecca and Trent,” she says with a smirk. You smile, because she thinks mentioning her child’s name will hit you. She doesn’t do passive aggression well. Probably needs a few more rounds with Miranda. 

When the host looks, you hold up your torch and the clear snap in the middle. Raven is curious, Boris shakes his head, and Miranda smirks like you’re about to rat her out and nothing will happen to her. You almost don’t see the fear in her eyes, but luckily you’re a thorough searcher. 

You turn to the host. “If I may.”

The host nods. “Absolutely.”

“I believe this was stepped on before the challenge ended,” you say. Ronnie sighs, head in hands. “I am not sure if this will alter anything, but I figured you should know.” Miranda smiles at you, daring you to go on. 

“How did that happen?” the host asks.

“I recall Miranda blocking my way,” you explain. “And-”

Sharon shakes her head, a reply at the helm no matter what you say. “Child, are you trying to get your way so much that this is how far you’ll go? Shameful.”

“Let her speak,” Boris pleads. “She has something to say.”

“I don’t see how she has anything  _ valid _ to say,” Sharon continues. “And I don’t see why we should indulge her.”

The host holds a hand up. “I would like to hear what Kree says.” 

Sharon backs down. She smiles at you, but it’s the dictionary definition of condescending. “Proceed.”

“Thank you,” you say. “I had walked near Miranda. Trying to move past her…” You aren’t sure how to describe it, and Ronnie swivels to face you, a foul look on her face. “I only know I hit the ground. I’d burned myself…” and at this point you show the burn mark on the edge of your sports bra. It’s still tender and the air near it reignites the burn. You wince, but keep it to yourself.  “Because of that, I lost the torch, and when I went to regain it, it had been crushed under someone’s footstep.”

Ronnie looks at the host with a mystified, sarcastic grin. “Is this means to take away my win, Jeffy?” Ah. That’s the host’s name. 

“Sabotage is the only goal of this,” Sharon adds. “Otherwise, what is she trying to do?”

Boris sighs. “I would ask her the same,” he asks. “To her face.”

“You ain’t need t’interfere,” Sharon replies with venom. The angrier she gets, the more you notice her voice get more… Southern. 

“What are you hoping this leads to?” 

You hear Raven ask you, As you turn towards her, she gives you eye contact. It’s funny how little things like that make you feel human, but you take it. 

“I suppose… clarification.” You would rather have Miranda blasted into the sun, but you’re not looking for a fight. “I’m not familiar with the rules, and I do admit this happened on the tail end of the challenge, but after the burn mark and being unable to finish, I am not sure what the procedure is. This must not happen often.” The more you go, the more anxious Miranda looks, like she’s running into walls trying to find her way out. 

As you finish, you notice that a sliver of paper is edging out of your sports bra. Tenderly, you put a hand over the burn mark and push the paper down. You wince, but try to rub the mark gently. 

Jeffy nods. “We can certainly take this into account. Check the cameras, make sure no foul play happened.”

“If I may.”

You hear Miranda, rare as it is. You turn to see her raise her hand. 

“You may,” Jeffy confirms. 

“I had encountered Kree in the pathway.” As she goes further, she starts to tear up. “We had tried to pass each other. However, we both accidentally tripped each other in the darkness. I didn’t notice her fall, so I left.” As the tears fall like bombs on the grass, she says “Sorry, stress.” Ronnie hmms sympathetically. “When I left, I must have accidentally stepped on her torch. So what Kree says is correct, I just hope she knows it was an accident.”

The host looks at you. So does Miranda, still teary. Soon enough, everyone in your direction does. Raven’s eyes are the only ones with any concern in them. 

“Kree, do you refute this?” Jeffy asks. 

You damn sure would love to. You’d love to refute that she didn’t see you, that she didn’t bump you, that she didn’t step on your torch intentionally, the idea that it was an accident. But you can’t. You can’t pass off feelings as evidence. You can’t face them after extending the drama. With their threatening, glassy smiles, you dare not say one wrong word. 

“I’ll accept it,” you say. 

“Thanks for wasting our time, little girl,” Sharon says. She’s nine years older than you, but you’re not about to point it out. You lean to pick up your things as Jeffy recites the immunity speech to Ronnie about her being safe. The burn mark still aches, but it’s a dull one you can withstand easier. You feel the paper in your sports bra and push it down before it peeks out again. Then, with everyone else getting ready, you start walking back. 

Ronnie, wearing the necklace, smirks at you. Then, she briefly flicks the fire of her blowtorch.

“Shit!” You step backward, though maybe it was more “jumping away from the flame like it magnetically repulsed you”. You stumble backwards and fall, nearly hitting the river. You’re ashamed more than anything for overreacting, and how Ronnie is laughing over it. “Damn, you’re a ‘fraidy cat!”

“Don’t do that!”

Raven speaks again, reaching for the torch. Ronnie is too bewildered to stop her from taking it. Her own also in hand, she hands the two to Jeffy as he’s walking away. “Seriously need to confiscate these things as soon as the challenge ends,” she says with force. 

Ronnie doesn’t react, flabbergasted. After a bit, she recovers, laughing “Look who grew some balls!”  She shakes Sharon’s shoulder and laughs, looking at Raven. “Okay, kid, you can come back home now. Torch is gone. Relax.”

“Why’d you do that?” Raven demands, walking back to her. You imagine this is why people think elephants are afraid of mice, because even as small as she is she’s intimidating the hell out of you. “There had to be a good reason you’d take someone who was already burned and try and freak her out.”

Ronnie shrugs. “Girl, settle. I was just having some fun. Not my fault she’s so jumpy.”

Raven sighs. “Are you gonna pull this all the time? Try actually getting to know these people.” 

“Like you do?” 

_ “Yes, like I do!” _

You smile, and hear Miranda sigh. It’s only when you hear Sharon say “your behavior is out of line, Raven!” that you notice her change. 

“If this is how you wanna play it,” she says, as though to tell Raven to look what she made Miranda do. She reaches into the bag on her shoulder and pulls something out, holding it in the air. The camerafolk rush to get a good look at it, lighting the area up with flash and pomp. 

You look at it and laugh. 

Not just a cute laugh either. Your sides are split, you’re slapping your knee, and it’s a damn wonder you haven’t fallen over cackling. Boris notices it and grins, but doesn’t react as much as you, though you wonder who could. Meanwhile, Raven couldn’t be any more horrified. She looks at with doom and hatred, as though she wrote her story but the pen was ripped out of her hands before the triumphant ending. 

“This is the hidden immunity idol,” she says. She places the trinket, just as you found it in Thompson’s tackle box, around her neck. The cross looks more laughable on her than it would on Ronnie, though not quite as hypocritical as it would on Sharon. “With it, one of us is safe this round. So with near certainty,” she adds, “we’re in the final five. If Raven wants to join us, all she has to do is vote with us.”

Raven covers her mouth, unsure of how to react. 

You are. “Okay,” you say mockingly, giving an exaggerated thumbs up. Miranda puts it away, because she has failed to intimidate you, which may have been her goal more than it was to intimidate Raven, which she has successfully done. She hasn’t intimidated to you because she’s changed nothing. She may have all the plans in the world. Hell, she may have that idol. 

But she doesn’t have the paper. 

You all start the walk back to camp after that limp squib of a reveal. Producers are waiting by with their hands out. You hand your broken, useless blowtorch, sad that you couldn’t auction it off on eBay but glad to be rid of it. Raven walks next to you, hand on your back. She’s looking straight ahead, not of this world. All she can say is “I’m sorry.” 

You put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. As you walk, you pull the paper out of your bra quietly. It’s not too singed from the torch, but you know that there’s still a burn mark towards the top. 

It’ll still take the entire empire down, and you know it. 

You tap her shoulder. She looks up to see the paper in your hand. You nod, and she grabs it. “Read it at camp,” you say. 

She looks more confused than ever, but whispers “okay” and places it in her own bra. You don’t say anything, but smile that she has it. 

The power is hers now- but she doesn't know it yet.


	9. Chetan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree learns what's in a name

You see the sun starting to set on the horizon and focus on it. You let yourself, managing to just stay aware enough. What’s done is done. What’s said is said. There’s not much you can change. You only hope she read the paper.

Boris sits next to you. You feel his presence and hear him grunt, but he’s quiet.

“How you hanging?” you ask. You place your canteen (that you keep forgetting you have) over your burn mark. It hurts like hell, but you’re too desperate for it to be cooled to stop.

He sighs. “The idol reveal was as ineffectual as I felt it would be.” He grows a smile. “I look forward to her playing it.”

You nod. “If it’s how I go out, it’s a hell of a way to go out.” You shake your head with a pitiful smile as you imagine pulling one over her one last time.

Boris grimaces. “I hope it’s not the case. Going through adversity with friends is hard enough. I would hate to go it alone.”

You sigh. “Even Sharon?”

He shakes his head. “Has not talked to me once since last vote.” He rolls his eyes. “Has talked about me plenty, but to me, she wouldn’t be caught dead.”

You place your hand on the shelter. He takes it. “That’s no way to treat a friend,” you say.

He sighs, but that’s the extent of it, because Boris is not a crier. Probably those years in the British Armed Forces hardened him up. Meanwhile, if you were in his shoes you would probably be hysterical. You’ve struggled losing friends, one turning on you would crush you. Yours and Raven’s complicated relationship already took pieces of your heart and ran.

You clear your throat. “I’d rather you stay than me though,” you admit. “You can handle it better than I can. I’m sorry if that’s selfish, but…” You don’t have a reason.

He pats your leg. “Everyone needs to be a little selfish at times in their life.”

“Just not too much,” you reply, doubting yourself.

He nods passively. You two sit there, the sun fallen a few more inches in your eyes. You almost don’t notice Raven sit to your left, but you feel it- heavier than your bag, lighter than Boris. You turn to her and say “hi”.

She nods and hands you the paper back. You smile nervously and place it back in your bra. Thankfully, neither one cracks any jokes.

“Toby had one too,” Raven explains. “Tried to pass it off like he found individual immunity. Had them fooled up to the vote, too. They voted for someone else to dodge it.”

You smirk. “The boy really just…”

Boris smiles. “Had as much fun as he could. If this game was for pure entertainment, I’d have kept him along longer.”

Raven nods, but clearly wants to expedite conversation from where it is, especially around Boris. Being even remotely aligned is still a new experience for them. She says “Toby took the idol and the note to the grave. I had no clue about it.”

“You do now.”

Raven nods. “Yeah, thank you.”

You’re all quiet for a bit, and the sun starts to hide behind the trees. You look at Raven to the left, Boris to the right. For the first time since Esther, you think you have the same numbers as the other side.

You take your canteen off your chest, open it, and take a sip of water. Raven looks at you and says “guess we should think of a plan before we go.”

You nod, and Boris hmms next to you. “Whatever you come up with,” he says, “I am yours.”

You smile, and think. You think back to the challenge and how Miranda showed the idol as soon as Raven showed signs of rebellion. How Miranda crumbled and teared up the second Jeffy called her ethics into question. How Miranda avoids you and siccs Ronnie on you the second you call her out. How quickly she crumbles under pressure.

You have a name.

Before you can say anything, Ronnie shouts for you. “Tribal Council!” You can’t see her, but you can certainly hear her.

“I’ll tell you on the way out,” you promise. Boris nods and Raven hops off her seat. Your backpack, big and tall as you remember, sits behind you. You read the tag briefly as you turn the straps towards you.

_Chetan._

With a sad smile, you put it on with the ease of a decade’s practice. You take another sip of your canteen, but you’re still parched to hell, and your burn mark is screaming not to be ignored. It’s as if you forgot how to survive the wilderness trying to survive the people.

You think, and have decided that if you go out this round, you ain’t going out thirsty. You drink half the canteen’s entire bounty in one drink, drinking so fast it makes you sick to your stomach. It’s a lot yet not enough. Anything is not enough right now. A waterfall is not enough.

You’ll take what you can get.

Then, you place the canteen’s mouth to the burn mark on your chest. Water comes rushing out and meets your burn mark with violent fury. It’s such an angry unity that you yelp a little when it hits, but keep it together. You slowly let the water drain out, releasing its hold on the burn and eventually leaving it dry. It’s not healed, but it’s a little numb for now.

You’ve managed with scars before. This is nothing new.

Ronnie calls your names again. This time you can see her angrily beckoning at you, necklace loosely bouncing yet secure (has she even taken it off since yesterday?) The three of you follow her as she leads into the other two. Sharon sees you and turns away so dramatically she may as well point to it with a neon sign. You grab Boris’ arm kindly, wanting to tell him he has new friends now, but you can trust that he knew that.

All you whisper is someone’s name, and the other two nod like it’s the most sense you’ve ever made in your life.

You can’t help but smile as you walk on. The cameras follow you like you’re running away, and not casually walking into the fight of your life.

\-----

_ “I trust Boris. To some extent, I trust Raven. More importantly, I trust them to be friends. I’ve always been lucky to have friends, but now I am even luckier, because if tonight goes right, I will have as many friends at camp as I do enemies. That, right now, is what motivates me. It’s a pie in the sky hope, and I could lose my life- or worse, a friend. No matter how many times you lose someone, it is never easier. But this is the risk I am willing to take. And if I’m right, what they are willing to take as well. Both for the million dollars, and so our names are remembered.” _


	10. Uncage The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kree prepares to play her swan song

Tribal Council goes how you would expect. 

It starts with a little trash talk between sides. Raven stays quiet of course, so when Miranda and Ronnie try to intimidate you, you just smile back. Boris talks to Sharon about no longer talking to him, and she tells Jeffy- not Boris, of course- that Boris left a lot behind when he left the alliance. Boris shakes his head, more out of pity than sorrow. Miranda says they have the perfect plan with her hidden immunity idol, nothing more or less. 

“Raven knows what to do,” she asserts. 

You grin. “Sure you don’t wanna just tell her? We haven’t stopped you before.”

It’s another graceless night at Tribal Council.

You’re piqued when Jeffy mentions the loved ones’ visit. You know he’s gonna visit you, and you’re trying to figure out what you say. How much you say. You can explain everything, but you’re still nervous about giving up a part of yourself to people who may not be receptive. 

You look at the jury for strength. Brian sees you and nods, always quick to make eye contact with you and no one else. Zaim is relaxed, happy, enjoying listening and always quick to give an affirmative motion at anything the six of you vomit out. 

You realize that it was never about your enemies. 

Ronnie talks about being a single mother, always worried about her children from here in Tasmania. She struggled a lot, and she put herself through hell to get this far despite her fears because a million dollars would change their lives. You hear her talk with pride and anguish, tears flowing freely, the brash exterior shed for a moment before a new impossibly thick skin grows. 

You wish you regretted what you said about her having children last Tribal Council. The only regret you feel is regret that she pushed you away from being invested.

You sort of tune out whatever Miranda and Sharon say, but you can’t help but hear. You catch that Miranda was always the quiet twin, a genuine horse girl who felt more comfortable around animals than people. You’re surprised at how much that clarifies, and about how much you two relate. Sharon says something about her grown daughter, and having love, faith, and harmony in the house, but you know there has to be a better way to praise Jesus in your actions than how she does.

You’re shaken out of something when Jeffy turns to you and you accidentally make eye contact. “Kree,” he says. “You have a tendency to be nakedly emotional.”

“Thanks,” you mumble with a smirk. 

Unshaken (yet amused) he continues. “This family visit was no different. Out of everyone, you showed the most emotion.”

“That I did,” you admit in case Ronnie jumps in. 

“How important is your relationship with your mother, and how has that affected your game?”

It’s not a  _ gotcha  _ question or one that surprises you, but it still requires a long, drawn out sigh before you answer. “Uhm… to be honest, growing up I wasn’t too close to my mother,” you admit. “I mean, we loved each other and respected each other, but she was always the one to stay and prepare house. It was…” you swallow, and look over in fear, but thankfully no one is saying anything to mock you or keep you from talking. The floor is yours. 

“It was my dad and I who went out… adventuring and going outdoors. You know, he was a surveyor, and I tagged along with him. That’s how it was. I spent most of my time with him until he…” You clear your throat to keep from getting messy. Brian looks at you, willing you to speak, to not be afraid. You’re at peace, but shakily so, because this is the most you’ve gotten in touch with yourself in years. “He passed about twelve years ago, so… I think through that grief my mom and I started getting closer, as more than just family… but as friends. 

“And I… I kept going, you know. Kept going out, surviving, doing outdoor work just like dad taught me. And I think that’s when she was proud of me the most, when I was able to do what dad did so naturally. And those were things my dad was proud of too- that things came so naturally to me.”

You swallow again, and a small sob breaks free. Oh the jury, Anita is tearing up but stays in the background. Zaim is clapping, and Brian just smiles at you. Boris claps you on the back. You think Raven is smiling, but it’s hard to read her. You know everyone is watching- those you can trust, and those who you know you cannot. You’re just glad that for the most part, you know who is who. 

You get yourself together, but you’re too numb to focus. You don’t go in the past, because it’s too raw and you’re not about to make a show of yourself anymore, but wherever you are, it isn’t here. You try to be here, you try and be in the present, but keep fading out. You vaguely hear Boris talk about how much his wife means to him (which is already insanely obvious just by talking to him), and try and latch on, you honestly do, but you keep thinking about where you are and who you are, realizing both yield a puzzle you haven’t yet solved. 

Boris finishes, and you apologize to him for having spaced out. “Tell me later,” you plead. Boris nods with a smile, and you’re glad he realizes that there’s going to be a later. You imagined going in you would shake everyone’s hands and slip away to the deserts of New Mexico, but reality is a lot messier than how you would imagine. 

Raven talks about her own sister. “She’s always been more fearless than me,” she says. “I think it’s partly because she’s more naive, but she’s also less… afraid.” She laughs, embarrassed. “I know that’s obvious!” she adds as though she expects anyone to interject. “But she’s always been able to let go and enjoy, and… I admire that.”

That’s all she says, and she buries her head down. Everyone looks at her, expecting more, but you reach for her hand. She takes it, and you rub circles into her hand with your thumb, to let her know that she doesn’t have to say any more until she’s ready. 

You realize that no one’s said anything. No one has interrupted, taunted, or made a show of themselves. This is the one human moment the six of you had together. It doesn’t make you like Ronnie, Miranda, or Sharon more- and you’re still mystified by the times they fly in the face of their values- but you reckon you have too. 

They’ve done nothing to earn your forgiveness, but not too much to avoid being heard. 

As if someone unpaused it, you hear more taunting and chaos, and feel the warmth of the tire fire you missed more than you thought. None of it affects you. None of it tests your emotions. You’re smiling more than you have before. 

Either a few minutes or months later, Jeffy sends you up to vote. You smile as your name is called first. You walk up, familiar enough with the Tribal Council set to stop admiring it and start appreciating it. You reach the booth, write a name down, and hold it to the camera. 

_ “It’s time to end the show.” _

With that, you walk back to everyone else, gesturing to the booth with dramatic flourish. Ronnie smirks and leaves. As Ronnie leaves, you grab Boris’ hand. He’s nervous, but he tells you “this will be the most fun I’ve had all game.” You let it go when he’s called to vote. You cross your leg and clasp your hands together, grinning. You make eye contact with Brian and raise your eyebrows. He raises them back, curious. 

You notice Miranda trade off with Sharon- apparently Miranda left. Boris has taken a seat and is crossing and uncrossing his legs with deep breaths that sound like anxious sighs. You whisper “it’ll be fine. It’ll be fun.”

He nods, but says “I know. I just have a lot riding on this.”

You nod, guilty despite yourself. “If not this round, then next round.” 

He swallows. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Finally, it’s Raven’s turn. You smile at her as she leaves, and she smiles back. There’s no need to beg her to vote your way. There’s enough trust between you as it is. She writes a name down quickly and returns before you know about it. When Jeffy says he’s gonna go get the votes, you’re surprised, turning around to look at her. She smiles back. 

Everything’s going to be okay. 

You all watch Jeffy go to tally. Some are bored, some are excited, all are expectant of different things- and only Raven knows them all. All you can do is look at Brian again, trying to steady your breathing and draw strength from him. 

He returns. At last. 

“If anybody has a hidden immunity idol, and yo-”

Miranda is standing up. Oh good, she’s early. You almost feel insulted for anyone else who ever may have done that in seasons past. “Don’t worry about it, Jeffrey.” 

_ Oh, great.  _ You glower as if that’s your biggest problem.  _ Now it’s Jeffrey? _

Miranda swings the idol around by its necklace, and lets the cross land on Jeffrey’s podium. “This isn’t any secret,” she says- indeed, none of the jury are blown away one way or the other. “But with it, they can vote for Sharon or me. We won’t lose.” 

You watch Miranda return and high-five an ecstatic Ronnie, who’s standing up and jumping. “That’s how you do it, baby!” she yells. Sharon grins, clapping. You, Boris, and Raven look at each other. None of you are all too concerned, but Anita looks heartbroken and Zaim like he’s given up. Only Brian seems settled and curious, as if the story hasn’t been written how she says it. 

You count down the moments until half the smiles disappear. 

“This is…  _ not  _ a hidden immunity idol.”

They aren’t angry or stunned. They’re confused. No, they’re stupefied is more like it. Even the jury looks like Jeffrey said something wrong. Anita looks like someone paused her, finger in the air as she tries to work out how what looked like a very real idol was a fake.

So you pull the paper out of your bra and hand it to Miranda. Stunned, she reads it quickly. You haven’t memorized it well, but “official fake immunity idol” has seared into your mind from the second you found it on the truck after Thompson left it behind. 

“The official twist,” she muses, trying to withhold her anger. “How fun.” 

Zaim busts up laughing from the jury bench. Anita sighs in relief, saying “oh my gosh.” Brian is smiling as widely as ever. 

“All votes cast for Miranda will count.”

Just as Jeffy goes to throw it in the fire, Miranda throws the paper in there as well out of spite, refusing to acknowledge that you could ever best her in a game of wits. She doesn’t know how intricately you snowed her. 

“This changes nothing,” she hisses. “We still have the numbers.”

“Yeah, but it was fun,” you say, smiling cheekily. 

Jeffrey stands tall. “Once the votes are read, the decision is final. Person voted out will be asked to leave the Tribal Council immediately.” He reaches in to read the votes. You know the process too well, but the result doesn’t feel like an inevitability or a horror. It’s actually exciting. 

“First vote: Kree.”

You nod, expecting as much. No one on the other side is saying much of anything save for Sharon, who whispers something to Miranda and claps her knee in comfort.

“Kree. Two votes Kree.” 

Another vote for you, this one in a lot larger handwriting than before. You shrug, because either you leave or you watch it all burn. Boris still looks nervous, but is smiling. 

“Get your brave face on,” you advise. 

A brave face is exactly what Miranda is on- though maybe it’s a cocky one, refusing to acknowledge how much the plan has changed. Maybe it’s because she thinks she knows the outcome of this vote. 

Jeffrey gets out the next vote. You hope it’s yours. 

It is. 

“Sharon.”

Sharon sits up, pointing at herself, face blank. 

“That’s one vote Sharon, two votes Kree.”

The air’s sucked out of the room. You pat Boris on the shoulder, and he shrugs with a smile. “It’s the game,” he says, but it’s clear he’s still a little sad. 

“You got this,” you assure him. 

“Sharon. That’s two votes Sharon, two votes Kree.”

You look at Miranda curiously. She’s not looking at anyone. She’s sweating a little, you can tell from here. She’s trying not to betray any emotion, but she’s dead on her feet. Sharon is trying to stay happy and demure, but she’s shaking. You probably are too, though. Ronnie’s the only one who can’t see this going wrong, though by the anxious, confused way she looks at the other two, she may be in denial. The only one looking absolutely peaceful is Raven.

“Kree.”

You nod as you get the third vote, but now your anxiety is at its peak. You just now realize what losing would mean. You saw it as an end to suffering, an inevitability, but now you don’t want to leave. You’ve hit your stride. You made them fear you. You’re finally the beast they need to slay. You’re praying to God that isn’t you. 

This was a fitting swan song, but you don’t want that song to end when you’re only now singing.

“That’s three votes Kree, two votes Sharon. One vote left.”

You can’t look back at Raven. You can’t even look at Boris. The only person you can look at is Brian, as though he can come back and make things okay. He isn’t sure how he feels, judging by the neutral look on his face that dreams to be something else. But there’s a twinge of pride, if you look closely enough. You may be making it up, but it’s enough. 

You look back at Jeffrey. He holds a vote to his chest. The only sound you can hear is your heart beating in your chest. 

Then, vaguely: “Sharon.”

You fall to your knees, awestruck, hands over mouth. You can’t tell who’s looking at you, how everyone is reacting, what this means to people. You just know how you are, and how you’re looking at the fire, because you’re gonna burn this entire set to the ground before you walk out of here. 

You feel a set of arms grab your shoulders to motion you up. “Get up, silly,” Raven teases, pulling you to your seat. You clumsily sit back down and thank her. She just hugs you over your neck, her stool leaning forward. 

You hold Boris’ hand, comforting him. “Change is gonna come,” you promise, and he breathes easier. 

That change is in, you expect, the form of a listless, angry blonde woman who can’t stop staring at the ground. Sharon tries to smile still, but is more anxious by the second. Ronnie shakes Miranda’s shoulders, saying “come on, mama, it’s two against one. We got this.” Then, judging by her non-reaction: “right?” Miranda still doesn’t answer her.

Somewhere between the chaos of it all, Jeffrey has announced the revote. You won’t vote, you know Sharon won’t vote. Everyone else can only vote for you two. It’s just how Esther described it to you. 

“Raven, if you’ll come get the urn.”

Raven laughs, saying “it’s half my size,” but walks up to get it. You see her stare down Ronnie as she grabs it with both arms. You can’t see Raven’s face very well, but Ronnie’s fury could be seen from space. She mimes a throat cutting, and Raven just laughs as she walks away. 

Miranda swerves to look at you. She has more hatred and anger than you could ever imagine that she’d display. She wants to scare you, as though she’s not the one trembling at the thought of voting. “Ronnie should have shoved you into the river,” she hisses, because even now she can’t imagine a reality where others don’t work for her. 

You smile, because she didn’t and you’re still here. 

You’ve survived too much to be scared anymore.


End file.
